UC-NRLF 


B    3   150    207 


ADMETVS 

A  THESSALIAN  FANTASY 
BY  IRVING  E.  OVTCALT 


UNIY6RS1TY  Of  CALIFORNIA 
LIBRARY 


.  7- 


C>C  LIBRIS 


COPYRIGHT  1914 

BY 
IRVING  E.  OUTCALT 


For  the  right  to  perform  "  Admetus,"  applica 
tion  should  be  made  to  Irving  E.  Outcalt, 
State  Normal  School,  San  Diego,  California.' 


ADMETUS 
A  THESSALIAN   FANTASY 

A  DRAMA  IN    FOUR    ACTS 

By 
IRVING    E.  OUTCALT 


DENWCH 


CHUUA    M4TA. 


A 


NOTE 


This  play  was  written  for  outdoor  presentation  by 
the  class  of  June,  1914,  of  the  State  Normal  School 
at  San  Diego,  California.  Since  the  Ionic  portico  and 
colonnades  of  the  Normal  School  building  were  to  be 
the  stage  and  setting  for  the  play,  a  Greek  theme 
which  should  give  opportunity  for  Greek  costumes 
and  pageantry  seemed  appropriate. 

The  selection  of  the  cast,  the  work  of  preparation, 
and  the  stage  production  were  directed  by  Miss  Jane 
Butt,  Instructor  in  Oral  Expression  and  Dramatics. 
All  departments  of  the  school  assisted  in  preparing 
the  details, — music,  costumes,  dances,  stage  proper 
ties,  etc.,— and  the  entire  school,  students  and  faculty, 
participated  in  the  pageantry. 

The  Choruses  were  sung  by  the  Normal  School 
Philomel  Chorus,  under  the  direction  of  Miss  Rose 
E.  Judson,  Head  of  the  Department  of  Music.  Mrs. 
Margie  Louise  Webber,  of  San  Diego,  sang  the  solo 
in  the  fourth  act.  Mr.  Ernest  L.  Owen  directed  the 
orchestra. 


395517 


6  ADMETUS 


The  music  of  the  choruses,  "0  The  Day  is  a  Loom," 
'The  Day  is  Coming,"  "Life  so  Fair,"  and  "The  Day 
is  Gone,"  and  of  the  solo,  "From  Some  Far  World 
Above,"  was  composed  by  Mr.  S.  Camillo  Engel,  of 
San  Diego,  who  on  this  occasion  played  the  ac 
companiments  to  his  own  compositions.  Since  then, 
Mr.  Engel  has  composed  music  for  the  other  choruses 
given  in  the  lines,  and  also  an  overture,  the  necessary 
processionals  and  interludes,  and  the  postlude, — in 
short,  he  has  now  provided  a  complete  cycle  of  music 
for  the  play. 


CHARACTERS     OF    THE     PLAY 


ADMETUS, King  of  Pherse 

ALKESTIS, the  Queen 

EURYNOME, companion  to  the  Queen 

PAL^MON, Priest  of  Apollo 

ZETHUS, an  old  peasant 

HERMES, the  messenger  God 

APOLLO,   the  Sun-God 

HERACLES, the  friend 

Aurora,  Phosphor,  Hesper,  the  Hours,  the  Graces,  the 
Muses,  Ceres  and  Persephone  with  nymphs  and  swains, 
Bacchus  and  Ariadne  with  attendant  revelers,  and  the  Winds. 

The  royal  children,  heralds,  cup-bearer,  attendants,  soldiers, 
altar  maidens,  handmaidens,  and  citizens. 


THE    FIRST    DAY 


King  Admetus  of  Pherae  enjoys  the  special  favor  of 
Apollo.  The  reason  for  this  is  that  when  Admetus  was 
a  youthful  hero,  the  great  sun-god,  having  offended  Zeus, 
was  condemned  to  exile  from  Olympus,  and  spent  nine 
years  as  a  shepherd  to  the  king  of  Pherae.  He  learned 
how  rich  and  beautiful  human  life  can  be,  and  especially 
came  to  love  Admetus.  After  he  returned  to  Olympus 
he  remembered  the  land  of  Pherae  with  the  richest  bless 
ings  that  he  could  bestow,  and  cherished  the  design  of 
conferring  Olympian  immortality  upon  the  king;  not  un 
derstanding  that  the  characteristic  joys  as  well  as  the  sor 
rows  of  earth  grow  out  of  the  mortal  condition.  Admetus, 
responding  to  the  favor  of  the  god,  has  given  himself  up 
more  and  more  wholly  to  piety;  and  his  beautiful  wife, 
Alkestis,  with  her  warm  human  affections  and  her  ready 
human  helpfulness,  has  apparently  become  less  and  less 
necessary  to  his  life.  Only  apparently,  however. 

Now  the  annual  harvest  festival  in  honor  of  Apollo  is 
being  celebrated.  The  queen,  as  she  observes  the  increas 
ing  asceticism  of  Admetus,  cannot  help  recalling  his 
heroic  youth,  when  he  won  the  games  from  all  the  other 
sons  of  Greece,  sued  for  her  hand,  and  then  came  for 
her,  driving  the  team  of  wild  boars  and  lions  that  the 
oracle  had  prescribed. 


10  ADMETUS 


For  the  first  time,  Palaemon,  the  old  priest,  detects 
omens  of  evil  attending  the  sacrifices.  The  king  is 
oblivious  to  these— so  perfect  is  his  reliance  upon  divine 
favor.  The  priest,  whose  human  sympathies  are  strong 
in  spite  of  his  divine  calling,  is  surprised  to  find  that  his 
own  concern  is  for  Alkestis.  Admetus  is  almost  ready 
to  forswear  the  joys  of  earth,  if  he  can  but  gain  im 
mortality.  Only  his  deep  love  for  Alkestis,  now  almost 
hidden  under  pious  observances,  still  holds  him  from 
Olympus. 

The  coming  of  Heracles,  the  much-loved  helper  of 
mankind,  is  announced. 


Act  I 


SCENE:  The  portico  of  the  temple  of  Apollo  in  Pherae. 
It  is  the  Jay  of  the  harvest  festival  in  honor  of  Apollo  as  the 
god  of  the  harvest.  The  worshipers  come,  bearing  offerings  of 
ripened  grain  and  fruit,  which  they  heap  about  the  altar  that 
stands  in  the  foreground,  or  tal^e  into  the  temple.  They  pass 
in  and  out,  and  the  portico  is  Well  filled  when  Admetus  and 
Al^estis,  with  Eurynome  and  other  attendants,  come  to  give 
royal  sanction  to  the  Joyful  occasion.  The  km§>  almost  priest- 
like  in  his  bearing,  salutes  the  temple  with  uplifted  arms;  then 
he  invokes  the  favor  of  the  god. 

Admetus       Unto  Apollo,  on  this  festal  day, 
The  harvest  of  our  lives  we  offer— nay! 
Are  these  our  lives  that  wake  to  greet  the  sun, 
That  sing  while  reaping  till  the  harvest's  done, 
Then  feed  upon  the  fatness  he  hath  given, 
And  sleep  secure  beneath  his  shadowed  heaven? 
Not  so!  His  flocks  that  Hermes  tends  on  high, 
Whose  golden  fleeces  rich  the  evening  sky; 
The  winds  that  blow  his  music  thro'  the  groves, 
Dispelling  from  the  valleys  that  he  loves 
All  earthborn  mischiefs,  wheresoever  found, 
In  noisome  vapor  or  unhallowed  sound; 
The  health  and  joy  and  sweetness  of  the  days 
Wherein  we  walk  along  his  lighted  ways— 
All  these  are  not  more  his,  to  heed  his  call, 
Than  we,  from  throned  king  to  meanest  thrall, 
Are  his— Apollo's.    Whence  the  songs  we  sing, 
Today?    the  solemn  dance,  wherewith  we  bring 


12  ADMETUS 


The  hecatombs  from  herds  that  by  his  will 
Now  graze  and  multiply  on  every  hill 
Throughout  our  realm?    0  Phoebus,  all  are  thine— 
The  herdsman  and  the  herd,  the  grape,  the  wine, 
The  kingdom  and  the  king,  the  harvest  day 
And  all  the  harvest.     Thou,  to  whom  we  pray, 
Art  author  of  our  prayer.     Above  our  hope, 
About  our  lives,— yea,  compassing  the  scope 
Of  our  deep  joys  and  griefs,— thou  art:  thy  love 
Hath  left  no  emptiness  below,  above. 
And  since  it  fills  our  hearts  and  sets  us  free, 
We  grace  ourselves  in  turning  unto  thee! 
As  fountains  overflow  and  find  their  sea, 
As  birds  give  up  in  song  the  joys  that  fill 
Their  tender  throats  too  full,  as  the  stars  spill 
Back  on  thy  luminous  throne  the  light  that  thou 
Hast  given  too  freely, — so  thy  people  now 
Must  render  back  the  bounty  of  the  land. 
And  ours  is  but  the  trembling  of  the  hand 
That  holds  the  offering  forth.     Take  thou  our  best: 
0  Phoebus,  take  thine  own,  and  we  are  doubly  blest! 

(Admetus  goes  into  the  temple,  leaving  Alkestis,  with  Eurynome  and  the  other  worshipers, 
in  the  portico.) 

Alkestis 

The  king  goes  in.     'Tis  meet  that  on  this  day 
The  chosen  of  the  gods  should  seek  the  shrine 
Alone.  — Eurynome,  dost  thou  not  think 
Such  piety  sits  well  in  Pherae's  court? 

Eurynome 

It  graces  both  Apollo  and  the  king. 
Never  was  king  so  favored  of  a  god 
As  is  our  good  Admetus! 


A  C  T     0  N  E  13 


Alk.  'Tis  not  strange: 

Never  was  king  so  open  to  the  skies 
As  is  Admetus. 

Eur.  He  was  always  so. 

Alk.         Always?    Yea,  truly!  Yet—  I  know  not  why— 
Sometimes  my  heart  is  thrilled  by  memories 
As  of  Admetus  in  another  guise.— 
Less  pious?  —  Nay!  —  But  with  each  sacrifice 
To  Phoebus,—  0  the  many  hecatombs!— 
Thou  knowest,  Eurynome,  for  thou  hast  been 
Beside  me  always,  —  somehow  stranger  grows 
The  image  that  I  cherish  from  the  past. 
Shall  I  forget  Admetus  as  he  came 
First  to  my  father's  court,  and  won  the  games, 
And  took  the  wreath  from  all  the  sons  of  Greece? 
Less  pious?    Why,  Admetus  was  himself 
A  god  on  that  great  day!    The  worshiper 
Was  I,  earthborn,  that  scarce  could  lift  my  eyes 
To  my  Olympus! 

(She  remains  thoughtful,  reminiscent.     Palaemon  enters  from  the  temple.     His  face 
and  manner  show  anxiety,  as  from  some  untoward  occurrence.  ) 


On  the  sun's  great  day, 
Why  should  the  sun's  priest  wear  a  cloudy  brow? 
Where  is  the  king? 

Palaemon  He  lingers  at  the  shrine, 

Where  he  most  loves  to  be.     'Tis  well:  the  god 
May  speak  to  him  directly.     Light  the  work 
Of  priest  is,  when  the  king's  ear  is  so  close 
To  the  god's  lips! 

(Alkestis  turns  and  observes  Palaemon.) 


ADMETUS  14 


Alk.  When  the  priest's  mien  is  grave, 

On  this  of  all  days,  in  a  land  so  blest, 
A  queen  must  wonder — nothing  more? 

Pal.  The  priest 

Must  solve  the  wonder, — if  it  please  the  god 
To  give  him  light! 

Alk.  How  went  the  sacrifices? 

Pal.  Well— and  ill. 

Alk.  How  ill?    In  Pherse's  land, 

What  can  impede  the  prayer  of  Phera's  king? 
What  can  divert  the  blessing  of  Apollo?— 
Or  may  a  god  grow  weary  of  his  love? 

Pal. 

The  love  of  Phoebus  changes  not,  be  sure! 

Alk. 

Then  nought  can  harm  Admetus  or  his  realm. 

Pal. 

Even  to  the  priest,  Apollo's  oracle 

Is  sometimes  doubtful. — Human  is  the  priest, 

And  human  hope  and  fear  may  mix  within 

His  heart,  and  then  the  Olympian  light  grows  dim. 

Alk.        A  riddle! 

Pal.  Then  I  speak  it  as  I  see! 

Call  it  the  riddling  of  an  old  man's  fear,— 
But  in  the  temple  on  this  day,  methought 


A  C  T     0  N  E  15 


The  air  was  somehow  heavy  with  portent- 
Yet  was  there  nothing. — Blue  and  wavering 
The  sacred  flame — but  what  of  that?    These  eyes 
May  be  less  true,  even  in  Apollo's  light, 
Than  when  Apollo's  Hours  were  kindlier.— 
Less  keenly  did  my  spirit  seem  to  feel, 
Today,  the  presence  of  the  god — a  veil, 
Invisible  but  chill,  had  intervened.— 
What  then?    May  not  the  spirit's  channels  fill 
With  dregs  of  wasting  years?    And  when  I  turned 
To  supplicate  the  chariot-throne,  a  cloud, 
Heavy  with  omen,  had  shut  out  the  skies.— 
But  what  of  that?    No  cloud  can  make  the  sun 
Less  sure! 

Alk.  What  power  can  harm  Admetus,  if 

Apollo  change  not?    Is  the  king  disturbed? 

Pal 

He  sees  no  omens — knows  no  evil:  safe 

He  lives  within  the  bosom  of  the  god. 

He  scarce  would  hear  the  voices  of  the  Fates! 

Alk. 

The  Fates!  True,  there  are  Fates;  but  we  who  dwell 
In  Pherse's  favored  land  regard  them  not. 

Pal. 

Would  that  they  gave  as  little  heed  to  us! 

(Palaemon  goes  out.) 

Alk. 

He  told  us  all— nothing  that  we  should  fear, 
If  the  king  fear  not.     Timid  grows  the  priest 


16  ADMETUS 


With  age.  —Yet  there  are  Fates,  and  he  who  stands 
Within  the  circle  of  the  gods  may  well 
Take  counsel  of  his  fear.  —  Admetus  fear? 
Why  should  Admetus  fear?    He  is  a  man- 
No  less  than  when  he  wooed  me!    Eurynome, 
Canst  thou  recall  the  wonder  of  the  day— 
The  day  long  ere  I  came  to  dwell  within 
These  walls,  which  love  hath  made  my  only  home— 
The  day  when  first  Admetus  came? 
Eur.  Aye,  well! 

The  glory  of  Admetus  on  that  day 
Flows  thro*  the  charmed  memory  like  a  song! 

(She  recites.  The  throng  responds  with  the  cry,  "AdmctusI"  at  the  end  of  each 
stave.  Alkestis  listens  with  growing  fervor,  as  the  youthful  triumph  of  her  hero  is  recall 
ed  to  her. ) 

When  the  best  and  the  bravest  had  striven, 
While  the  splendor  of  Hellas  looked  on, 
And  Olympian  murmurs  came  down,  wind-driven, 
To  mingle  with  earthly  applause; 
From  the  press  of  the  day's  great  cause 
Came  forth,  at  last,  to  the  foot  of  the  throne, 

The  victor,  alone- 
One  hero  came  forth  at  the  last  high  call, 
One  hero,  to  harvest  the  glory  of  all— 
"Admetus!    Admetus!" 

Then  the  stillness  of  that  great  hour 

Closed  round,  like  a  starlit  sky: 
Forgotten  his  right  arm's  unconquered  power, 

And  the  quick,  fierce  will  to  die. 
Beyond  the  deep  moment's  ken 

The  struggles,  the  victories,  fade; 

And  the  wrecks  his  prowess  hath  made, 


A  C  T     0  N  E  17 


The  world — the  world  and  its  men 
Are  lost  in  the  leap  of  a  spirit  flame, 
At  the  sound  of  his  name — 

Admetus!    Admetus!" 


« < 


Like  the  flash  of  sword  from  its  sheath 

Is  the  joy  of  the  young  heart  now; 
For  the  white-haird  king  leans  forth  with  a  wreath 

That  is  meet  for  a  victor's  brow. 
0,  the  games  have  been  played  and  won, 
And  the  glorious  striving  is  done! 

Is  there  aught  beyond  for  a  hero,  then, 
Who  is  tried  and  ready?    Ah,  might  we  behold 
The  vision  of  youth  unrolled — 
The  gleaming  world  and  the  path  of  gold! 

But  the  silence  is  shattered  again— 
'  Admetus !    Admetus ! ' ' 

And  more  than  a  world  is  there; 

For  the  eyes  of  the  hero  have  flown 
To  the  eyes  of  the  maiden,  where 

She  stands  by  her  father's  throne. 
0  Eros,  while  trumpets  sound, 
Thou  makest  thy  silent  victory  sure; 
For  the  brave  and  proud,  like  the  tender  and  pure, 

Must  yield  when  thine  arrow  flies! 

Now  the  hero's  lips  are  pale, 
And  the  wreath  falls  to  the  ground, 

And  the  glorious  visions  fail.— 
Doth  he  hear,  while  the  sound  of  his  triumph  rings, 
How  the  heart  of  the  maiden  sings? 
"Admetus!    Admetus!" 


18  ADMETUS 


Alk. 

Aye,  how  it  sang!    As  if  to  fill  the  void 

With  music  fresh  as  motherhood's  first  joy!— 

The  king  returns — but  not  yet  hath  he  ceased 

Communing  with  the  god.     Is  this  Admetus, 

Whose  royal  heart  once  quelled  the  savage  team 

Of  boars  and  lions?    He,  whose  passion's  tide 

Swept  round  me,  as  the  ocean-stream  the  world? 

For  I  was  like  a  little  isle,  adrift 

Upon  a  summer  flood, — like  Delos,  I, 

Before  distraught  Latona's  prayer  called  down 

The  word  of  Zeus  that  fixed  it  in  midsea, 

As  a  divine  abode  where  love  divine 

Might  be  fulfilled— and  Phoebus  bless  the  day! 

(Admetus  enters  from  the  temple.  He  is  thoughtful,  rapt,  almost  ascetic  in  his  bear 
ing.  Alkestis  regards  him  with  wistful  inquiry.  He  extends  his  arm  toward  her, 
benignantly.  She  obeys  and  they  walk  together  to  their  places,  while  the  handmaidens, 
courtiers,  and  other  Pheraeans  take  positions  at  either  side. ) 

Adm. 

On  days  like  this  the  god  himself  would  come 
To  greet  us  here!    Canst  thou  remember? 

Alk.     Dissembling.  I 

Remember  one  whose  coming  brought  the  dawn, 
And  crimsoned  peak  and  sea! 

Adm.     Surprised  at  her  fervor.  Dawn  of  his  day 

It  was— whose  but  Apollo's!    Yet  who  markt 
The  glory  thro'  his  humble  garb?    How  strange 
That  man  may  see  the  god  indeed,  then  turn 
To  sordid  mortal  things  again!    'Tis  true— 
The  god  once  walked  thesefields,  —in shepherd  guise, 
Yet  none  the  less  a  god,— and  we  were  blind, 


A  C  T     0  N  E  19 


Seeing  the  shepherd  only!    Yet  we  soon 
Perceived  that  wheresoever  he  came,  our  hearts 
Had  wondrous  power  o'er  song  and  beauty.     Then 
In  pure  simplicity  I  made  him  king 
Over  the  flocks  that  graze!    And  little  guessed 
That  I  was  but  a  shepherd  in  his  world. 

Alk.  Thou  his  shepherd? 

Adm.  Aye,  all  things  are  his, 

And  we  are  his,— 

Alk.   Hurriedly.  Aye,  so  you  said,  my  lord. 

Adm. 

Why,  even  thou,  Alkestis,  art  his  gift— 
The  richest  of  Apollo's  gifts  to  me! 

Alk. 

His  gift,  my  lord?    A  gift  should  have  no  heart! 

{She  rises  abruptly.) 

Music,  Eurynome!    Honor  the  day 
With  dance  and  song! 

Eur.        To  the  chorus  of  worshipers. 

Come,  sing  we  of  the  day, 
And  of  the  God  of  Day! 

Chorus  sings 

0,  the  Day  is  a  loom  where  the  God  doth  weave, 

A  wondrous  loom  is  the  Day! 
And  the  gleaming  web  is  the  life  we  leave, 

It  gleams  with  our  work  and  play. 
The  flash  of  the  shuttle,  the  quick  return— 


20         ADMETUS 

Doth  the  weaver  smile  as  he  sees? 
We  may  love  and  hold,  we  may  love  and  mourn; 
But  what  doth  the  weaver  please? 

0,  the  Day  is  a  harp  to  the  God's  swift  hand. 

A  wondrous  harp  is  the  Day! 
Its  tones  are  the  noises  of  sea  and  land, 

And  strange  is  the  harper's  lay. 
From  the   God's   swift  hand  fly  the  sweet  wild 
chords — 

From  the  God's  swift  hand  they  fly! 
0,  the  music  we  love,  but  we  know  not  the  words 

That  he  sings  as  he  passes  by! 

(Admetus  has  been  struck  by  the  inadvertent  regret  in  the  words  and  manner  of  Alkcstia, 
and  thro '  his  really  deep  affection  for  her  half  divines  what  is  in  her  mind.  His  habit 
ual  joy  in  the  near  vision  of  her  beauty,  and  in  the  realization  of  her  nobility  and  of  her 
love  for  himself  and  their  children,  gradually  brings  back  all  bis  natural  tenderness. ) 

Adm.  Alkestis,  hast  thou  found  the  secret  well 

Of  youth  undying?    Every  day  more  fair 
Thou  art.     The  gods  are  doubly  kind:  the  days 
Bring  flowers  to  thee— take  none  away! 

Alk.  I  live, 

My  lord,  and  love  my  life  and  thee,  and  all 
Thy  gifts— and  every  gift  of  Phoebus. 

(Palaemon  and  an  attendant  enter.) 

Attendant.    A  messenger  begs  leave  to  greet  the  king 
I  left  him  waiting  at  the  palace  door. 

Adm.  Let  him  come  hither. 

(He  dismisses  Alkesiis  affectionately,   and    with  her  all  depart  excepting  Admetus, 
Palaemon  and  a  few  attendants.) 


A  C  T     0  N  E  21 


Now  the  sacred  day 
Must  lose  its  purport  in  the  petty  round 
Of  a  king's  toil.     Palsemon,  one  more  word, 
Before  yon  messenger  lets  in  the  world. 
Thou  art  beloved  of  Phoebus:  thou  alone 
Dost  know  how  ardently  my  spirit  craves 
To  do  the  will  of  Phoebus;  since  the  day 
When,  walking  with  a  god  upon  these  hills, 
I  caught  the  hope  that  earth  might  mix  with  heaven, 
And  man  grow  to  Olympian  stature,  if 
His  will  might  lose  itself  within  the  god's! 

Pal 

0  king,  thy  piety  is  known  to  all.     Enough 

Thou  hast  prevailed.     No  man  may  challenge  Fate! 

Adm. 

Why  should  man  speak  of  Fate?    The  gods  them 
selves 

Are  helpless  in  the  surge  of  that  vast  will, 
That  sways  from  pole  to  pole!    To  think  of  that 
Is  to  be  lost!    Fate  cannot  speak  to  us— 
Heeds  not  our  cries.     The  gods  are  friendlier, 
Nearer  akin:  they  beckon  from  Olympus, 
And  draw  us  upward. 

Pal.  But  this  world  is  fair, 

Friendlier  than  Olympus— 

Adm.  What,  Palsemon,  thou? 

Hath  the  man  in  thee  overcome  the  priest? 

Pal. 

Right,  0  king!    Thou'rt  nearer  to  Apollo 


22  ADMETUS 


Than  is  Apollo's  priest— For  one  whose  heart 
Is  with  the  gods,  this  world  indeed  hath  little: 
Wouldst  yield  it  all? 

Adm.  Aye,  for  one  upward  step! 

Pal 

There  hast  thou  pleged  the  price  that  man  must  pay! 

Adm. 

This  world  the  price  that  man  must  pay,  to  gain 
Olympus?    Gladly  would  I  pay  it  then! 
The  most  that  gods  will  give  should  be  the  least 
That  man  aspires  to.    What  is  paid  and  left 
behind— is  nothing! 

Pal.       Aside  Then  alas,  Alkestis! 

(The  messenger  enters.) 

Messenger 

To  Pherae's  hospitable  court  I  bear 
The  greeting  of  a  friend,  Alcmene's  son. 

Adm. 

What?    Heracles?    A  blessed  name!    Where  is 
Thy  master? 

Messenger 

Even  now  he  comes  this  way, 
On  Thracian  labor  for  Eurystheus  bent. 
To-morrow  shalt  thou  see  him,  if  thou  wilt: 
He  craves  thy  hospitality  awhile. 


A  C  T     0  N  E  23 


Adm. 

No  better  word  could  come  to  Pherae's  court! 
A  happy  herald  thou!    Go  on  before — 
Bear  welcome  to  the  mighty  son  of  Zeus! 
Tell  him  our  happiness  awaits  his  coming. 

All  go  out. 


THE   SECOND   DAY 


Palaemon,  the  old  priest,  bearing  the  shepherd's  staff 
that  has  once  been  Apollo's,  comes  in  early  morn  to 
the  field  where  the  god  himself  formerly  tended  the  flocks, 
there  to  seek  a  closer  communion  with  the  divinity  of  his 
worship.  He  is  opprest  by  the  sense  of  coming  evil,  and 
his  concern  is  still  for  Alkestis.  About  him,  tho  he  does 
not  know  it,  are  all  the  beautiful  divinities  of  the  dawn; 
for  it  is  their  office  to  herald  the  god  of  day  on  his  west 
ward  journey.  Apollo  himself  is  tarrying  in  these  fields, 
as  is  his  wont,  recalling  the  joys  of  his  former  humble  life 
in  exile.  He  meets  Hermes,  messenger  of  gods  and 
Fates,  and  learns  that  the  death  of  Admetus  has  been 
decreed.  He  must  save  his  favorite,  somehow.  He 
sends  Hermes  to  bargain  with  the  Fates.  Then,  to  in 
tensify  the  zeal  of  Palaemon  and  purge  it  of  all  human 
weakness,  he  reveals  himself  in  full  splendor  to  the  priest, 
who  thenceforth  will  be  blind  to  all  earthly  things  and 
will  see  only  the  splendor  of  the  god.  Hermes  returns 
with  the  word  that  the  Fates  will  grant  a  respite  to 
Admetus,  if  some  other  worthy  soul  will  go,  a  willing 
ransom  for  him,  at  the  appointed  hour.  Heracles  bears 
the  stricken  priest  home  to  Pherae. 


Act  II 


SCENE:  A  field  in  Thessaly,  near  Pherae.  In  the  back 
ground  is  a  rude  altar  to  Apollo,  to  whom  this  field  is  sacred 
on  account  of  his  service  as  a  shepherd. 


{The  Chorus  of  the  Dawn  enters:  First  the  Winds  and  the  Hours;  then  Aurora, 
Phosphor,  the  Graces,  the  Muses,  and  other  associates  of  Apollo;  Bacchus  with  revelers, 
Ceres  with  attendant  nymphs  and  swains.  They  are  heralding  the  God  of  Day. 
Scenery,  costumes,  and  spirit  are  appropriate  to  the  dawn.) 

Chorus 

The  Day  is  coming!    Phoebus,  lord,  hath  spoken! 

The  huntress*  bow  is  slack,  her  arrows  fail. 
The  Day  is  coming!    Dawn's  sweet  dream  is  broken, 

And  rosy  fingers  glimmer  thro'  the  veil. 
The  Day  is  coming!    O'er  the  gray  Aegean 

The  petals  kindle  in  the  orient  rose; 
And  now  the  flame  hath  touched  the  hills  Euboean, 

And  thro'  the  Muses'  haunts  the  glory  grows! 

The  Day  is  coming!    O'er  the  western  ocean 
The  mists  are  flying— chastened  is  the  air. 

The  forest  gloom  is  stirred  with  strange  emotion, 
And  one  by  one  lays  all  its  secrets  bare. 

The  Day  is  come!    Behold  the  blazing  portal! 
0  man,  stand  up!    To  thee  'tis  given  for  aye 

To  look  with  eyes  that  die  on  light  immortal- 
Behold  the  chariot-throne!  The  God!  The  Day! 


26  ADMETUS 


(As  the  song  closes,  Palaemon  and  Zethus,  an  old  peasant,  enter.  The  priest  seats 
himself  upon  a  rock  ana  "  soon  l°st  I/J  contemplation  of  the  rising  dawn.  The  shep 
herd's  staff,  which  he  handles  with  so  much  reverence,  is  the  one  that  Was  formerly  borne 
by  Apollo  himself,  in  this  field.  Old  Zethus  is  carrying  rocks  and  building  a  wall. 
Occasionally  he  regards  Palaemon  with  evident  scorn,  and  even  interrupts  his  pious 
meditations,  until  the  old  priest  is  exasperated. 

Here  and  throughout  the  act  the  mortals  who  participate  are  unconscious  of  the 
divine  presences,  excepting  when  made  aware  by  special  act  of  Apollo.) 

Zethits 

Now,  now,  Palaemon!  Thou  art  old  enough  to  do 
thy  sleeping  in  bed.  This  is  no  place  for  such  as  thou. 
(He  shakes  the  priest,  who  resents  the  intrusion. )  What  ?  Not  asleep  ? 
Why,  if  thou  wert  young,  thou  might' st  be  in  love!  He,  he, 
he!  In  love,  old  Palsemon!  Dost  know  what  love  is,  or  art 
thou  too  old  even  to  remember?  He,  he,  he! 

(Chuckling  over  his  joke,  he  resumes  his  work,  and  Palaemon  his  contemplation  of 
the  dawn.  The  divine  chorus  is  before  him,  but  he  sees  only  the  changing  radiance  of 
the  morning.) 

Palaemon 

The  morn  comes  pulsing,  glowing,  from  the  dusk! 
Here  in  Apollo's  field,  at  break  of  day, 
I  come,  as  is  my  wont,  that  so  my  heart 
May  deeply  drink  the  presence  of  the  god. 
I  feel  within  my  hand  his  herdsman's  staff 
Draw  me  unto  him  with  familiar  touch; 
I  seem  to  see  about  me  beauteous  forms- 
Fresh  as  the  dewy  flowers  with  which  they  blend— 
Of  those  who  grace  his  chariot-course,  or  bear 
His  heraldings  to  every  life  that  waits 
To  be  enkindled.     Aye,  the  god  is  here! 
The  doubts  and  fears  that  haunt  the  night,  when  eyes 
Are  helpless,  now  should  flee! 


A  C  T     T  W  0  27 


Zet .  Talking  of  a  god— he,  he!    Wake  up,  Palaemon! 

Belike  'tis  the  same  god  whose  priest  thou  art!  Palaemon  a 
priest— old  Palaemon— he,  he!  Fit  for  such  a  god!  Why, 
that  Apollo  used  to  sit  on  that  same  rock  and  moon  away  the 
time,  just  as  thou  dost!  What  kind  of  a  god  can  he  be,  that 
was  too  silly  to  herd  sheep?  Yet  he  was  young  enough  to  be 
in  love.  Wake  up,  old  Palaemon— he,  he! 

(He  goes  back  to  his  work,  chuckling  derisively.) 

Pal.  Unheeding  The  god  is  here; 

Yet,  in  defiance  of  his  presence,  yea, 
Even  of  his  panoply  of  morning,  comes 
That  gloomy  portent,  seeking  me.     Some  harm 
Awaits  the  royal  household,  I  am  sure. 
Alas,  Alkestis!    Why  do  I  think  of  her? 
Apollo's  charge  to  me  is  of  the  king. 

Zet.  Aye,  that  Apollo:  he  was  a  madcap  youth.    A 

shepherd,  he?  Why,  he  would  sit  where  thou  dost  now,  hold 
ing  to  his  lips  a  piece  of  wood  that  sang  '  'Too-ra-loo-ra-loo" 
—he,  he,  he  ,he,<he!  '  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, ' '  it  sang,  like  a  silly 
bird!  He  a  god?  Thou  a  priest?  He,  he,  he!  (He  shakes 
Palaemon.) 

Pal.  Away,  clown,  keep  thy  ribaldry  for  thy  kind! 

Zet.  Retreating,  yet  oblivious  to  Palaemon  s  anger.  l 'Too-ra-loo-ra- 
loo,"  it  sang,  like  a  silly  bird!  (He  goes  out.) 

Pal. 

Darkness  and  light — how  strange!       The  twain 

must  mix 

Daily  before  our  eyes  at  dawn  and  eve. 
Forever  must  the  life  we  know  emerge 


28  ADMETUS 


From  the  mysterious  flux  of  day  and  night. 

Forever  must  we  see  the  world  anew 

Created  out  of  chaos  with  the  morn. 

Of  gifts  divine,  this  is  the  crowning  one— 

That  we  should  see  the  Titan  struggle  forth, 

Daily,  from  out  the  black  abyss!  —Alas, 

Alkestis! 

(He  gives  himself  up  to  silent  reverie.) 

Chorus 

Out  of  the  orient  glow  and  pass! 
Hang  with  jewels  each  blade  of  grass.— 
Shepherd  or  priest,  peasant  or  king — 
Into  his  heart  of  Olympus  sing. 
Dazzle  his  eyes  with  Aurora's  tears; 
Trouble  his  spirit  with  hopes  and  fears; 
Then  pick  up  the  jewels,  every  one,— 
And  hasten — we  herald  the  passing  sun! 

(Hermes   enters. ) 

Hermes 

Ho,  ho!  Thessalian  fields  have  captured 

Great  Apollo's  court  of  beauty! 
Pherse's  swains  I  see  enraptured, 
While  a  god  delays  his  duty. 

Chorus 

Why,  'tis  Hermes,  he  who  wanders 

Widely,  gods  and  men  deriding.— 

Hermes 

When  the  mighty  sun-god  squanders 

Daylight,  there  is  cause  for  chiding. 


ACT      TWO  29 


Goes  your  lord  once  more  a- wooing, 

While  the  west  awaits  the  morn?— 

All  forgot,  his  late  undoing, 

When  he  won  Marpessa's  scorn? 

Ho,  I  saw  the  great  Apollo, 

When  that  fairest  maid  of  earth 

Fled  the  god's  embrace,  to  follow 
Idas  to  his  humble  hearth! 

Ho,  ho!  Be  the  warning  shouted 

To  Olympians  who  rove, 
'  'If  a  god  would  not  be  flouted, 

Let  him  seek  no  earthly  love!" 

Chorus 

Hermes,  scoffing  at  thy  betters,— 

By  thy  scorn  thou  art  betrayed; 
For  the  master-love  that  fetters 

Phoebus  is  not  love  of  maid. 

Here,  where  mocking  thou  dost  greet  us, 
Wait  we,  while  our  lord,  apart, 

Blesses  all  that  King  Admetus 

Holds  within  his  pious  heart. 

For  with  every  day's  renewing, 

Lingers  he  to  please  his  eyes— 

All  the  humble  scenes  reviewing, 

Where  he  wrought  in  mortal  guise. 

See,  he  comes! 

(Apollo  enters,  slowly,  as  if  reviewing  every  feature  of  a  landscape  that  is  rich  in 
associations.     Hermes  and  the  chorus  fall  back>) 


30  ADMETUS 


Apollo 

Once  more,  0  earth,  from  lucid  heights  descending, 

I  greet  the  shadows  of  these  homely  hills; 
I  see  the  groves,  and  hear  their  music  blending 

With  sounds  from  fields  that  humble  labor  tills. 
How  fresh  the  song  that  bursts  the  seals  of  morning! 

How  glows  the  light,  where  late  the  darkness  lay! 
How  brave  the  toil,  how  brave  the  smile— death- 
scorning! 

The  air  how  kindly,  where  these  mortals  stray! 

Olympian  bastions  blaze  with  light  eternal: 

The  gods  go  forth,  return,  and  all  is  said; 
While  earth  enfolds  the  mystery  supernal 

Of  light  and  darkness — of  the  quick  and  dead. 
Here  night  or  day  stands,  now  remote  and  single, 

As  each  in  beauty  braves  the  lonely  deep; 
Anon,  in  twilight,  their  faint  breathings  mingle, 

And  folded  wings  their  mutual  secret  keep! 

Chorus 

A  garden  blooms  in  the  dusk  alway, 
'Neath  the  stars  that  circle  the  realm  of  day. 
(Like  the  rose-lighted  dusk  of  a  maiden's  hair, 
'Neath  the  eyes  of  love,  is  that  garden  fair. ) 
And  by  golden  pathways  that  Time  hath  worn, 
The  gods  come  down  to  the  brink  of  the  morn: 
They  breathe  the  fragrance  of  blossoms  rare, 
That  glow  and  fade  in  the  starlight  there; 
Then  dreaming  they  mount  to  Olympus  high, 
And  drown  their  wonder  in  revelry. 

(Hermes  discovers  himself  to  Apollo. ) 


ACT      TWO  31 


Hermes  What  now?  Must  the  warrior  descend  from  his 
chariot?  Must  the  archer  follow  his  arrows?  Must  the  god 
measure  his  steps  by  those  of  men? 

Apo.  Hermes,  the  mocker!    And  pray,  who  wanders 

more  than  Hermes?  Lately  more  than  ever!  When  was 
Hermes  present  at  a  council  of  the  gods? 

Hermes  With  a  grimace.  Council,  indeed!  A  dozen  all- 
wise,  all-powerful  beings,  with  nothing  at  hand  to  tax  either 
wisdom  or  power,  sit  about  the  banquet  and  tax  Ganymede 
to  protect  them  from  drouth! 

Apo .  Sympathetically.          No  wonder  Hermes  prefers  to 

be  a  messenger — or  even  a  cattle-stealer. 

Hermes         Bowing  ironically.  Your  memory  is  good!  Yes, 

I  fear  that  somehow  I  was  born  with  a  taste  that  is  thrown 
away  among  Olympians. 

Apo.  Credit  Father  Zeus  for  that:  he  is  himself  over 

taken  sometimes  by  the  mood  for  wandering.  But  in  sober 
truth,  Hermes,  Olympus  hath  need  of  thee.  Father  Zeus  is 
gloomy  of  late,  while  Hera  is  very  cheerful.  Thou  knowest 
how  tedious  the  conditions  must  be  for  others.  The  latest 
adventure  of  Hermes,  told  as  only  Hermes  can  tell  it,  would 
be  most  welcome  entertainment. 

Hermes         Again  ironically.  The  graceful  compliment  is 

not  lost.  But  the  gloom  of  Zeus  and  the  good  cheer  of  his 
consort  must  spring  from  one  and  the  same  source.  Is  that 
source  known? 


32  ADMETUS 


Apo.  Who  should  know  if  not  thyself?    I  wait  to  be 

enlightened. 

Hermes  Belike  our  brother  Heracles  is  sweating— or 
bleeding— under  the  exactions  of  his  taskmaster,  Eurystheus; 
and  at  every  drop  the  queen  of  heaven  smiles,  while  Zeus 
winces  and  stores  up  wrath  for  the  future.  The  hero  will  come 
this  way,  anon:  he  loves  Admetus  as  a  brother. 

Apo.  For  that  I    the  more   readily  forgive  him  the 

wrong  he  did  me  once  at  Delphi.  Whoever  loves  Admetus 
is  Apollo's  friend. 

Hermes        Significantly.  Let  those  who  love  Admetus 

help  him — if  they  can. 

Apo.  Sharply.    What  may  those  words  portend? 

Hermes  What  can  thy  love  avail,  if  it  cannot  teach  thee 
what  is  in  store  for  the  man  thou  lovest? 

Apo.  Thou  knowest  the  unvarying  law,  Hermes:    No 

god  may  read  the  future  of  the  mortal  whom  he  loves.  It  is 
the  penalty  that  we  must  pay.  Thou  alone  knowest  all  the 
decrees  of  Fate. 

Hermes  That  is  no  mystery.  Hermes  loves  no  one — is  in 
capable  of  love.  His  mind  is  as  limpid  as  the  ether  which  is 
his  home  and  his  highway.  He  knows  no  toil,  because  he 
recognizes  no  impediment;  no  distance,  for  his  wings  are  never 
weary:  no  time — what  can  an  immortal  know  of  time,  save  as 
a  rumor  from  mortality?  Thou  hast  thyself  trusted  him  with 
this  wand,  that  from  it  he  may  shake  wealth,  for  which  he 


ACT      TWO  33 


knows  no  use;  happiness,  which  concerns  him  not;  dreams, 
since  he  never  sleeps.  - 

Apo .  Impatiently.        But  Admetus !    What  of  Admetus  ? 

Hermes  Unheeding.  The  decrees  of  gods  and  of  Fates 
are  alike  to  Hermes,  since  he  hath  nothing  at  venture;  hence 
are  all  decrees  known  to  him  as  they  unfold,  and  he  is  their 
messenger  elect.  Grim  Tartarus,  whose  very  name  throws  a 
shadow  across  the  Olympian  revels,  has  no  terrors  for  Hermes; 
and  he  alone  may  pass  the  gloomy  gates  unscathed. 

Apo.  Admetus,  Hermes!    What  of  Admetus? 

Hermes  Willing  to  vex  Apollo.  And  this  death,  which  to 
others  seems  the  one  black  flower  of  a  beautiful  earth,  is  to 
Hermes  as  the  lapping  of  waves  on  a  seashore;  hence  is  he  the 
bearer  of  the  mortal  summons,  and  his  is  the  hand  that  leads 
the  reluctant  spirit  downward  thro'  the  thickening  shadows. 
Would  Hermes  be  capable  of  these  offices,  if  he  were  subject 
to  grief  or  anger  or  love?  Could  such  a  one  shoot  spiteful 
arrows  at  the  children  of  Niobe,  or  vengeful  ones  at  a  cy clops? 
Or  could  he  mope  in  the  path  of  a  loved  one,  or  sigh  to  a  tree 
or  a  flower,  or  wear  wreaths  of  remembrance? 

Apo.  Admetus,   Hermes!      Will  nothing  stop  thee? 

What  of  Admetus? 

Hermes  Hermes  sees  men  and  gods  and  Fates  alike,  and 
is  capable  only  of  laughter!  He  sets  his  wits  at  service, 
waves  his  wand,  or  touches  the  air  with  his  wings — the  deed 
is  done,  and  he  laughs — ho,  ho!  And,  now,  since  a  brother's 
mind  is  clouded  by  a  mortal  affection,  Hermes  will  prove  his 
quality,  saying  to  thee,  "For  all  thou  art  the  mighty  sun-god, 
Phoebus,  thou  soon  shalt  lose  thy  friend!" 


34  ADMETUS 


Apo.  Admetus?    Lose  Admetus? 

Hermes  The  word  is  already  spoken  by  the  Fates.  Ere 
thou  lead  a  second  morning  to  these  hills,  I  am  to  lead  the 
spirit  of  Admetus — thither  (pointing  downward) . 

Apo.  It  cannot  be! 

Hermes  It  cannot  be!    Ho,  ho!  (derisively) 

Apo .  My  will  is  otherwise! 

Hermes  Thy  will  is  otherwise!    Ho,  ho! 

Apo.  Admetus  is  to  be  immortal — is  to  dwell  with  the 

gods!    I  have  willed  it:    Zeus  hath  consented. 

Hermes  Thus  do  the  Olympians  dance  about  bravely  on 
the  outstretched  palm  of  Fate! 

Apo.  But  this  must  stop!    My  vows  are  given:    they 

must  be  fulfilled.  Hermes,  thou  shalt  help  me.  Try  those 
tireless  wings  once  more;  and  since  thou  knowest  not  time,  go 
down,  ere  it  is  too  late,  and  greet  the  fatal  sisters  for  me. 
Bid  them  name  their  price:  Admetus  must  be  mine!  The 
love  I  bear  him  was  born  and  nurtured  in  these  fields,  and 
hath  a  richer  taste  than  anything  divine — a  flavor  of  the 
earth.  I  will  not  lose  it.  Bid  them  name  their  price!  Thou 
wilt  go,  Hermes? 

Hermes  To  go  and  to  stay  are  alike  to  me.  To  serve  thee, 
I  go.  Await  me  here. 


A  C  T     T  W  0  35 


Apo.      Here,  without  fail! 

(Hermes  hastens  away.} 

Now  to  this  priest;  for  he  must  yield  to  me 
The  last  red  drop  of  service.     Ho,  Palaemon! 
His  human  eye  shall  not  discern  me  yet; 
But  ere  I  leave  him  he  shall  know  his  god. 
His  zeal  hath  flagged  of  late. — Palaemon,  ho! 
Palaemon! 

(The  priest  rouses  himself  wonderingly  from  his  reverie.) 

Pal.  What?    It  is  the  god's  own  voice! 

(He  prostrates  himself.) 

0  Phoebus,  art  thou  here?    Declare  thy  will! 
Apo.  Palaemon,  priest  of  Phoebus,  where  is  he? 

Pal. 

Let  not  the  god  be  angry:  he  is  here — 

Thy  priest,  Palaemon!    Never  more  thy  priest 

Than  now. 

Apo.  Why  lifts  he  not  his  voice  in  prayer? 

Is  wisdom  whole  with  him,  or  can  it  be 
That  here  in  Thessaly  no  need  cries  out 
Which  Phoebus  can  supply? 

Pal.     On  his  knees.  Thy  voice  is  gracious! 

Dare  I  give  words  to  that  which  fills  my  heart- 
To  fear  that  strives  to  shape  itself  in  prayer? 
May  a  man  speak  of  such,  and  not  presume? 

Apo. 

The  priest  presumes,  who  falters  in  his  prayer! 


36  ADMETUS 


Pal.  Then,  Phoebus,  be  not  wroth!    I  pray  for  one, 
Above  whose  head  I  see  a  portent  hang,  — 
Alkestis,  dear  to  thee  and  to  this  realm 
And  to  Admetus,  since  that  far-off  day, 
When  with  thy  aid,  Admetus  sued  for  her, 
And  brought  her  with  him  to  this  favored  land. 
A  tender,  gracious  consort  hath  she  been— 
A  mother  loving,  wise — all  Thessaly 
Is  fragrant  with  her  virtues— 

(Apollo  has  deen  listening  with  growing  impatience,  and  now  interrupts. ) 

Apo.  What  is  this? 

Hast  thou  forgot  thy  charge? 

Pal.    Prostrating  himself.  Nay,  pardon! 

Apo.   With  growing  wrath.  What! 

Hast  thou  forgot  the  king  and  all  his  hope? 
Where  now  is  thine  allegiance?    With  the  queen, 
Whose  soul  sees  nought  beyond  this  sordid  life? 
Whose  every  power  exerts  itself  within 
The  narrow  circle  of  an  earthly  home? 
What  thinks  she  of  Olympus?    Hath  her  heart 
Hungered  for  aught  beyond  her  hearth? 

Art  thou 

A  priest?— Apollo's  priest?— establisht  here 
To  feed  the  yearnings  of  Admetus'  soul 
For  immortality — to  free  his  heart 
From  every  gross  affection?    Thou  a  priest?— 
Apollo's  priest? — now  praying  for  the  queen, 
Whose  love  is  the  last  fetter  that  impedes 
His  upward  flight?   The  love  thou  bear'st  the  king- 
Why  hath  it  not  ere  now  revealed  to  thee 
The  peril  of  the  king? 


A  C  T     T  W  0  37 


Pal.  His  peril?    His? 

0,  pardon! 

Apo .  Time  it  is  that  thou  must  know 

The  God  to  whom  thy  vows  are  consecrated! 
Rise,  priest — behold  Apollo! 

(He  reveals  himself  in  full  splendor. ) 

He  that  sees, 

As  now  thou  seest,  the  god  of  day — his  eyes 
Shall  see  nought  else  again  thro'  all  his  days. 
The  splendor  of  the  god  shall  fill  his  soul 
Thenceforth,  and  may  not  be  disturbed! 

Pal.   Spreading  his  arms  in  fearful  joy.  Tome! 

The  splendor  of  the  god!    To  me!    At  last! 

(Palaemon  falls  back,  blind  and  unconscious.  As  Apollo  regards  him,  the  chorus  per 
forms  a  rhythmic  measure  about  his  prostrate  form,  singing.  Hermes  returns,  and  at  a 
gesture  from  Apollo  touches  the  priest  with  the  caduceus,  which  has  power  over  sleep 
and  dreams.) 

Chorus 

Seal  his  eyes: 

Daylight  dies- 
Brief  is  the  vision  of  seas  and  skies. 

Hastes  the  gloom, 

Gapes  the  tomb- 
Swift  are  the  deed  and  the  doom! 

Phoebus,  he  lies  on  thy  hallowed  ground: 
Now  make  him  surely  thine. 

Wide  thro'  his  spirit  the  Psean  sound- 
Thrill  him  with  joy  divine. 


38  ADMETUS 


Auroru    Comes  the  blithe  morning  to  smile  for  him, 

Turning  the  shadows  to  rose; 
Hours      Come  the  glad  Hours  to  beguile  for  him 

Time  that  so  tardily  flows; 
Muses  Come  the  rapt  Muses  to  sing  to  him 

Songs  of  the  heavenly  spheres; 
Graces      Come  the  fair  Graces  to  bring  to  him 

Blossoms  that  fade  not  with  years. 
Weave  we  the  circle  around  and  around, 

In  a  changeless  stream; 

When  he  awakes  from  his  deep,  deep  swound, 
Life  will  seem 
But  a  passing  gleam, 
In  an  immortal  dream. 

Hermes  In  his  former  derisive  tone.  How  very  becoming 
anger  is  to  a  god! 

Apo.  No  mocking  now,  Hermes!    Yet  thy  gibes  should 

trouble  no  one.  Thou  hast  judged  thyself:  thou  art  a  mes 
senger, —no  more, —knowing  not  the  weight  of  what  thou 
bearest,  seeing  nothing  that  thou  seemest  to  see. —Who 
comes  here? 

(Old  Zethus  enters,  discovers  Palaemon,  and  tries  in  vain  to  rouse  him.) 

Zet.  Palsemon!    What,   Palaemon!    Art  dead?    Nay, 

there  is  still  breath  here.  Yet  his  eyes  look  strange. 
Palaemon,  Palaemon!  Can  the  old  man  sleep  so,  with  his  face 
to  the  sun?  (He  tries  to  drag  the  body  away,  but  is  not  strong  enough.) 
I  must  seek  help:  he  must  not  lie  so,  in  the  sun.  (He  goes  out. 

Apo.  But  what  say  the  Fates?    What  is  their  price? 


ACT      TWO  39 


Hermes  A  high  one:  they  grant  thee  respite  for 
Admetus;  but  at  the  appointed  hour  to-morrow  I  am  to  lead 
to  them  another  worthy  soul  as  a  ransom. 

Apo.  They  might  have  demanded  two!    How  came 

they  to  be  so  gracious? 

Hermes         But  the  ransom  must  be  a  willing  one. 

Apo.  H'm — that  will  be  more  difficult;  these  foolish 

mortals  are  strangely  enamored  of  their  petty  lives.  But  it 
will  be  contrived.  The  king  hath  many  lovers  in  his  land, 
and  he  himself  is  resolute  for  immortality.  And  yet,  may  I 
count  upon  him?  Humanity  hath  vagaries  more  strange 
even  than  love  of  its  unstable  life.  What  means  that  silly 
choice  of  Marpessa?  And  how  was  Palsemon  so  easily 
seduced  from  his  charge?  But  the  priest  is  secure,  now. 
When  he  awakes  he  will  know  nothing  but  my  will,  and  will 
see  nothing  but  the  splendor  of  Phoebus.  I  can  trust  him. 
Let  us  go. 

(At  Apollo's  signal  the  chorus  goes  out  before,  singing.) 

Chorus 

Out  of  the  orient  glow  and  pass! 
Hang  with  jewels  each  blade  of  grass. 
Shepherd  or  priest,  peasant  or  king— 
Into  his  heart  of  Olympus  sing; 
Dazzle  his  eyes  with  Aurora's  tears; 
Trouble  his  spirit  with  hopes  and  fears; 
Then  pick  up  the  jewels,  every  one, 
And  hasten— we  herald  the  passing  sun! 

(As  Apollo  and  Hermes    are    about  to  depart,  they  see  old  Zethus  returning  with 
Heracles. ) 

Hermes         Here  comes  a  brother!    He  will  undo  thy  work. 


40  ADMETUS 


Apo.  Heracles— with  the  lionskin!    Let  him  not  per 

ceive  us.  How  his  might  hath  grown  under  his  hard 
taskmaster!  Nay,  he  will  not  mar  my  work,  nor  I  his:  our 
purposes  are  to  nearly  akin.  But  let  us  observe  him. 

(Heracles  pauses  to  look  about,  then  strides  forward  until  he  bends  over  the  prostrate 
form  of  Palaemon. 

Heracles       Is  this  the  man  I  am  to  help? 

Zet .  Breathless.    Heu,  what  a  stride  thou  hast!     'Twould 

wind  Achilles  the  swift-footed!  Palaemon!  Thou  sleepest 
well,  old  man!  Is  he  dead,  think  you?  Alack,  there  will  be 
some  weeping,  if  the  good  king  and  queen  hear  that  he  is 
dead.  I  left  him  here  but  a  moment— mooning  away,  as  is 
his  wont  in  the  morning.  He  was  a  good  man,  but  old,  very 
old — not  what  he  was  once.  Alack,  we  shall  all  grow  old! 

Heracles  He  is  not  dead,  nor  is  he  in  pain.  The  sun  hath 
toucht  his  eyeballs — those  arrows  of  Phoebus  are  keen.  He 
will  awaken,  but  he  will  not  see. 

Zet .  Not  see?    Why  then  he  will  be  blind!    Palaemon 

blind?  Impossible!  Why,  how  can  he  keep  a  flock,  or  lead 
a  procession  on  a  feast  day?  He  could  not  lead  himself — he, 
he!  Palaemon  blind?  No,  no,  that  cannot  be!  What,  wilt 
thou  carry  him? 

Heracles  How  sound  is  his  sleep!  Some  lofty  power  hath 
a  hand  in  this.  (He  looks  obout,  suspecting  a  superhuman  presence.) 
Yes,  old  man,  I'll  bear  him  home.  The  shoulders  that  once 
carried  a  lion's  carcass  into  the  court  of  Eurystheus  will 
make  a  light  burden  of  this  beloved  priest.  He  shall  be 
surety  for  my  welcome. 

(He  lifts  Palaemon  to  his  shoulders— Zethus  trying  to  help— and  strides  away.) 


A  C  T     T  W  0  41 


Zet.  Chuckling.     A  lion's  carcass!    A  brave  jest — he, 

he!    A  lion's  carcass  once,  now  old  Palsemon!    Palaemon  a 
lion's  carcass— he,  he! 

(He  goes  out.) 

Hermes         Tomorrow  I  shall  summon  the  spirit  of  Admetus. 
If  he  be  not  ready,  he  must  find  ransom.      Is  it  understood? 

Apo.  Thanks  for  thy  courtesy!    Admetus  will  not  go 

with  thee. 

(  They  go  out. ) 


THE     THIRD     DAY 


The  pious  ecstasy  of  King  Admetus  is  heightened  by 
the  story  which  blind  Palaemon  tells  him  of  the  vision 
of  Apollo.  The  priest  is  now  truly  and  wholly  the 
spokesman  of  the  god,  and  is  ready  with  the  divine 
message.  Admetus  shall  enjoy  immortality,  if  only  his 
will  is  equal  to  the  breaking  of  all  the  ties  of  earth.  As 
the  priest  departs,  Alkestis  enters.  Her  quick  human 
sympathy,  awakened  by  the  old  man's  affliction,  leads 
now  to  a  revelation  of  the  wide  difference  in  interest 
that  has  developed  between  the  king  and  the  queen:  his 
concern  is  with  the  god,  hers  is  with  human  things— 
the  works  of  the  god.  His  pious  raptures  baffle  her, 
tho'  she  scarcely  knows  how.  Then  Hermes  comes,  bear 
ing  the  fatal  summons  to  Admetus,  who  is  overcome  by 
the  catastrophe.  Alkestis  takes  up  the  asphodel  in  his 
place.  She  leaves  without  revealing  her  purpose.  The 
king,  with  health  and  vigor  returned,  now  tries  to  find 
the  substitute  required  by  the  Fates,  but  is  soon  informed 
that  one  has  been  found  within  his  household.  While 
he  is  recounting  these  things  to  Heracles,  the  sound  of 
the  wailing  of  mourners  approaches,  and  then  comes  the 
announcement  of  the  death  of  the  queen.  Heracles 


ACT     THREE 43 

readily  perceives  what  has  taken  place,  and  Admetus, 
more  slowly,  realizes  that  even  a  woman  might  satisfy 
the  requirement  of  the  Fates.  He  is  overcome  with 
grief,  and  is  led  away,  as  the  chorus  of  mourners  comes 
in.  Heracles,  filled  with  compassion,  determines  that 
Alkestis  must  be  recovered  from  death. 


Act  III 


SCENE:      Within  the  palace  of  King  Admetus. 

(The  king  and  Palaemon,  who  is  blind,  enter  with  attendants.  Admetus  is  evidently 
absorbed  in  contemplation  of  the  experience  which  the  priest  has  Just  been  recounting  to 
him.) 

Admetus  Hast  thou  told  all,  Palaemon?    Turn  thy  face 
This  way  again. — Those  eyes  have  spent  their  power 
In  one  fierce  moment's  joy;  that  so  their  god, 
At  height  of  glory,  might  possess  thy  soul 
Forever. 

Palaemon  0  my  king,  thou  think  'st  it  much 

That  I  should  lose  my  sight.     In  truth,  the  price 
Was  nothing,  and  already  is  forgotten. 
What  are  a  season's  blossoms,  when  the  walls 
Of  time  and  place  are  lost  in  one  dread  flash, 
And  the  vast  sea  from  which  all  beauty  flows— 
From  which  those  flowers  were  painfully  distilled— 
Comes,  flooding  all  the  spirit? 

Adm.  I  have  walked 

Side  by  side  with  Apollo  in  those  fields: 
He  was  an  exile  from  Olympus,  then, 
And  shunned  all  semblance  of  the  god.    To  me 
He  made  himself  a  man.     Nine  years  I  knew  him— 
Yet  knew  him  not  as  god;  nine  years  I  felt 
His  spirit  somehow  quicken  mine  to  life 


ACT     THREE 45 

The  blood  could  not  keep  pace  with.   Thro'  his  heart 
A  vigor  seemed  to  flow,  from  secret  wells 
Too  deep  for  me  to  fathom.    Thou  art  blest, 
Since  thou  hast  seen  him  as  he  is. 

Pol-  And  yet 

In  this  old  body  was  the  vision  poured, 
And  when  this  body  dies,  the  vision  dies. 
Blest  am  I,  King  Admetus,  for  a  day, 
Since  I  have  seen  that  high,  imperious  brow 
Bidding  the  day  spring  flow  eternally! 

A  dm. 

Thy  king  would  share  thy  blindness,  could  he  share 
Thy  vision. 

Pol.  Nay,  my  vision  is  but  mine! 

Whilst  thou,  0  king  shalt  sit  among  the  gods, 
Beside  the  fountains  of  all  streams  that  flow! 
Where  I  but  taste,  there  shalt  thou  drink  thy  fill!— 
Thou  art  astonisht? 

A  dm.  Thou  hast  named  my  hope! 

With  what  assurance?    Hath  Apollo's  wand, 
In  Hermes  hand,  been  prompter  of  my  dreams? 
And  hath  Apollo's  love,  with  purpose,  fed 
That  fond,  presumptuous  hope  within  my  heart? 
And  comest  thou,  Apollo's  priest,  with  his 
Authority  new-sealed  upon  thine  eyes, 
To  change  that  hope  to  substance? 

Pol.  Even  so. 

Apollo's  love  hath  placed  immortal  life 
Within  thy  reach:  put  forth  thy  hand  and  take  it. 


46  ADMETUS 


Adm. 

Put  forth  my  hand? 

Pal.  The  gods  force  not  the  gift 

Of  immortality  on  any  man. 
'Tis  in  thy  will  to  take  or  to  reject. 

Adm. 

The  gods  are  wise;  yet  why  consult  my  will? 
My  will  is  in  Apollo's,  as  thou  knowest. 

Pal. 

Thy  will  is  thine,  Admetus — dost  thou  pause? 

Adm. 

Surprised  I  am  that  something  in  myself 

Bids  me  withhold  my  hand  and  think.     I  know 

That  the  immortal  hope,  so  dominant 

Within  me,  hath  been  strangely  checkt,  ere  now, 

By  promptings  from  this  human  life.     My  realm 

Is  fair  to  look  upon— its  fields  and  flocks, 

Its  homes,  the  life  that  humbly  ebbs  and  flows 

As  wills  the  king.     My  sons  and  daughters,  now 

Fast  blooming  into  life,  draw  me  to  them 

By  dawning  gifts  and  graces;  and  my  queen,— 

Alkestis,  ready  ever  with  her  hand 

And  heart,  and  by  her  natural  joy  in  life 

Making  life  sweeter  to  all  things  that  live— 

Why  should  I  shun  the  lot  of  these,  who  all 

Go  smiling  toward  the  dim,  mysterious  door, 

That  opens  once  for  each— and  not  again? 

Pal. 

Aye,  but  Admetus— 


ACT     THREE 47 

Adm.  Pardon  me,  0  priest! 

I  know  that  these  are  light  and  trivial  things— 
Lighter  than  thistle-down  to  one  whose  eyes 
Burn  with  the  image  of  the  very  god! 
I  set  them  forth,  as  I  would  bare  my  soul 
Before  Apollo.     Then  I  say,  with  thee, 
Earth  is  akin  to  heaven:  man's  highest  hope 
Should  scale  Olympus.     He  must  not  refuse 
To  pay  the  earthly  cost  of  bliss  divine! 

Pal. 

Alkestis  comes! 

Adm.  How  canst  thou  know? 

Pal.  Hurriedly.  Her  step! 

Farewell,  0  king!— I  must  not  speak  with  her, 
Lest  I  regret  my  eyes!— Nor  man  nor  god 
May  hope  to  make  clear  to  a  woman's  mind 
The  lofty  intercourse  'twixt  god  and  man! 
Farewell:  the  gods  have  chosen  thee,  0  king! 

Adm. 

Farewell,  Palaemon.     (To  the  attendant.)     Lead  him 
gently  down. 

(Alfaesiis  enters,  followed  by  Eurynome.      She  recognizes  Palaemon,  who  is  being  led 
out,  opposite.) 

Alkestis        Palaemon?    Ah,  the  poor  old  man!     Alas! 
The  tale  of  his  disaster  even  now 
Hath  reacht  my  ears.     What?    Is  he  blind  indeed? 
An  old  man  should  not  gaze  into  the  sun: 
His  vital  fluid  is  too  easily 


48  ADMETUS 


Drunk  up.     Is  there  no  help?— no  liniment 
In  all  our  store,— no  poultice  that  my  hands 
Could  make,  to  cool  the  fever?    None?    Then  all 
Our  simples  and  our  healing  art  are  vain, 
Against  the  darts  of  Phoebus, — Phoebus,  god 
Of  healing,  who  hath  taught  us  all  we  know! 
Persuade  him  to  come  back  and  let  us  try.— 
He  was  a  priest  of  Phoebus! — To  be  blind- 
No  more  to  see  the  dew  upon  the  grass, 
The  ripple  of  the  wind  across  the  trees 
And  meadows,  or  the  flocks  among  the  herbage, 
Or  smile  of  human  friendliness — no  more? 
Why,  these  are  Phoebus'  works! — Mine  own  eyes  weep, 
That  his  should  be  distraught, — and  he  so  old, 
So  few  days  left  for  seeing,  at  the  best! 

Adm. 

Alkestis,  spare  thy  pity.     Tears  become 

Thy  woman's  eyes,  but  here  are  spent  in  vain. 

Palagmon  needs  no  pity:  he  hath  seen 

His  god;  and  is  more  blest,  since  Phoebus  wills 

That  he  shall  see  nought  else. 

Alk.  May  a  god,  then 

Be  jealous  of  his  works?    A  mystery! 

Adm.   Aside.    Right,  Palsemon!     (To  A  fastis,  severely)  The 

gods  have  not  made  clear 
Their  ways — to  woman's  comprehension.     She 
May  lead  her  life  secure,  and  question  not. 

Alk.  A  blessing,  truly!— Pardon  me,  my  lord; 

'Tis  thou  hast  made  it  such,  for  me,  my  lord. 


ACT     THREE 49 

(She  pauses,  wondering  how  best  to  make  herself  understood. ) 

I  saw  thee  first  as  victor  in  the  games, 
And  knew  thee  as  the  hero  of  all  Greece— 
My  hero! 

Adm.  Nay,  Alkestis,  'twas  the  god 

That  nerved  my  arm  unto  that  victory. 

Alk.   More  eagerly.    Let  it  be  so;  but  I  saw  thee,  my  lord! 
I  knew  thee  next,  when  thou  didst  burst  upon 
lolcos,  and  our  bravest  shrunk  aghast 
From  thy  wild  team  of  boars  and  lions,  tame 
To  thee  alone — their  savage  spirits  quelled, 
Made  plastic  to  thy  youthful  vigor. 

Adm.  Nay, 

Alkestis,  'twas  the  god's  hand  held  the  leash, 
Not  mine! 

Alk.   With  growing  fervor.    But  I,  Admetus,  knew  that  thou 
Hadst  come  thus,  seeking  mel    And  thee  I  saw. 
And  then  on  PheraB's  throne  I  saw  thee  sit, 
And  I  was  proud  to  be  thy  consort,  proud 
To  be  the  mother  of  thy  children,  who— 
Sweet  buds  now  bursting  into  bloom — will  bear 
Thy  spirit  and  thy  image,  mixt  with  mine, 
Down  thro'  the  days  of  Hellas. 

Adm.  These  are  all 

The  god's  works  still,  Alkestis! 


50  ADMETUS 


Alk.  Baffled.  So  they  are! 

I  thank  the  god  that  he  hath  let  me  know 
And  love  his  works;  for  they  have  given  to  me 
A  life  that  fills  my  spirit  to  the  brim, 
And  leaves  no  room  for  doubts  or  fears. 

Adm.  Moved,  but  hardening  himself.  A  sweet 

Content  is  thine,  Alkestis,  truly;  fit 
For  woman's  soul,  not  for  the  man's.     Most  blest 
Palaemon  is:  the  height  of  a  great  hope, 
His  at  last  for  an  instant,  hath  infixt 
A  splendor  that  is  his  for  life!    For  life? 
Who  knows?    That  splendor  may  go  with  him  down, 
Even  to  the  pit  of  Hades,  there  to  light 
His  spirit  thro'  dim  gardens  of  the  dead! 
Man  must  pursue  his  aspiration  up— 
Up  to  the  last  chill  height,  tho  human  ties 
Be  broken,  and  the  earth  become  a  blank, 
As  to  Palsemon's  sightless  eyes.     The  gods 
Are  else  most  cruel,  and  their  high  Olympus 
Is  but  a  snare! 

(He  wavers  suddenly,  and  drops  into  a  chair.) 

Ah,  what  is  this?    A  pang, 
Sudden  and  sharp— 

Alk.  0,  art  thou  sick,  my  lord? 

Adm. 

It  passes.    What  a  sudden  shock  was  that! 
Thy  hand  upon  my  forehead — so.     It's  gone.— 
What  was  I  saying? 

Alk.  Think  no  more  of  that. 


ACT     THREE 51 

Palsemon's  story  hath — wilt  thou  lie  down  ? 

(  The  kin8  yields  to  her  persuasions,  and  lies  back  upon  the  couch,  where  Alkestis  and 
Eurynome  try  to  make  him  comfortable.) 

Eurynome  will  sing,  if  that  will  please  thee: 
Her  voice  hath  often  brought  the  solace — there! 

(Eurynome  gets  ready  to  sing.  Palaemon  enters,  unattended,  and  remains  for  some 
time  unobserved.  The  signal  for  the  coming  of  Hermes  is  heard  first  in  the  distance, 
then  nearer,  then  right  at  hand.  It  is  not  heard  by  any  save  those  immediately  concern 
ed—the  kin8  and  the  queen;  and  when  Hermes  enters,  he  is  not  visible  even  to  them, 
but  they  hear  his  voice  and  see  the  wreath  of  asphodel  which  he  tosses  down  as  a  token. 
Eurynome  is  bewildered  and  dismayed  by  the  conduct  of  the  others.  Palaemon  waits 
tranquilly  throughout. ) 

Adm.   Hearing  the  note  of  Hermes  faintly,  and  half  rising. 

What  sound  was  that?     (The  note  again,  nearer.     Both 
listen  intently.)  Again.     Didst  hear  it? 

Eurynome  Ready— 

What  shall  I  sing,  my  lord? 

Adm.  Why  did  that  sound 

Shoot  a  strange  weakness  thro'  my  limbs,  and  numb 
My  spirit?     (The  note  a  third  time,  now  at  hand.) 

Once  again  it  comes!    What  now? 

(His  voice  has  sunk  <°  a  whisper.  The  two  are  on  their  knees,  with  intent  faces 
toward  the  sound.  Hermes  appears,  characteristically  impudent. ) 

Hermes        Admetus!    King  Admetus! 

Adm.  Hermes'  voice! 

What  word  from  high  Olympus  dost  thou  bear 
Tome? 


52  ADMETUS 


Hermes  Admetus,  king,  prepare  for  death! 
At  noon  this  day  thy  spirit  shall  go  hence! 
Witness  this  token  from  Persephone. 

(He  tosses  down  a  wreath  of  asphodel,  from  which  Alkestis  involuntarily  shrinks. 
Admetus  regards  it  not:  the  emergency  has  awakened  his  old  defiant  spirit,  which  has 
lately  been  dormant  under  an  excess  of  piety.  He  rises  indignantly.) 

Adm. 

Unword  that  summons!    It  is  not  for  me! 
Take  thy  curst  token  back!    Admetus  hath 
A  higher  call:  let  Phoebus  be  my  witness! 

Hermes 

Phcebus?    Ho,  ho!    A  higher  call!    Then  hear 
The  last  word  of  the  Fates! 

Adm.      Overcome.  The  Fates!    Alas, 

I  am  undone!    0  Phoebus,  what— 

Hermes  Thou  call'st 

On  Phoebus:  know  that  for  thy  piety 
He  hath  made  intercession  with  the  Fates, 
Who  graciously  have  granted  thee  a  respite, 
Within  thy  choice.     If  any  worthy  soul 
Will  go,  a  willing  ransom  for  thy  soul, 
At  the  appointed  hour,  thou  still  shalt  live; 
If  not,  thy  spirit  shall  go  hence  with  me. 
The  word  is  spoken  and  may  not  be  changed! 

(Hermes  disappears.  Admetus  and  Alkestis  remain  in  suspense  until  they  hear  the 
Hermes  note  sounded  faintly  in  the  distance.  Alkestis  picks  up  and  conceals  the  Wreath 
of  asphodel.  She  feels  the  sudden  pang  of  the  fatal  sickness,  but  nerves  herself. 
Admetus  is  still  dazed  by  the  sense  of  catastrophe,  and  recovers  himself  slowly,  as  the 
sickness  leaves  him.  With  clear  purpose,  the  queen  assumes  control. ) 


ACT     THREE 53 

Alk. 

My  lord,  thy  piety  hath  kept  thee  whole! 
The  land  is  filled  with  those  who  will  be  glad 
To  go  as  ransom  for  their  king, — as  is 
A  subject's  simple  duty. 

Adm.  Think'st  thou  so, 

Alkestis? 

Alk.  'Twould  be  treason  in  a  king 

To  doubt  it — treason  to  his  faithful  realm! 
Thou  knowest  it  is  so. — 0,  thou  shalt  live 
Long,  and  thy  kingdom  be  a  garden,  where 
The  gods  will  walk  with  thee!    And  thou  shalt  see 
Our  sons  victorious  in  war  and  peace, 
As  I  saw  thee;  our  daughters  thou  shalt  give 
To  worthy  heroes,  that  their  days  may  be 
Happy,  as  mine  were. — Ah,  Eurynome! 

(She  half  supports    herself  upon   Eurynome.     Admetus    is    regaining  command  of 
himself.) 

I  see  it  all,  my  lord — what  thou  wilt  do 
And  be,  in  plenteous  days  to  come,  on  this 
Good  loyal  earth. — I  see  in  one  quick  flash, 
As  good  Palsemon  in  an  instant  saw 
His  bliss  complete,  ere  darkness  overtook 
His  eyes. — Eurynome,  now  lead  me  hence— 
I  faint  almost — with  joy!    Nay,  stay  thou  here: 
Thou  hast  thy  work  to  do,  Admetus!— Ah! 
Phoabus  hath  succored  thee  indeed,  for  thou 
Art  pious:  trust  thy  people  for  their  part, 
Since  thou  hast  been  a  virtuous  king.    Nay,  nay,— 
Twill  soon  be  past!    Eurynome  will  care 
For  me. 

(Admetus  goes  with  her  to  the  door,  but  she  Will  not  permit  him  to  go  farther. ) 


54  ADMETUS 


Adm.  How  frail  a  vessel  is  the  heart 

Of  woman — shattered  now  by  fear,  now  joy.— 
For  me,  I  feel  my  vigor  all  returned; 
And  my  blood  bounds,  as  if  the  summons  were 
To  life,  not  death!    Ho  there,  without! 

(An  attendant  goes  to  summon  the  king's  guard.) 

The  time 

Is  short.     Blessed  be  Phoebus;  he  once  more 
Hath  steaded  me  in  time.     Now  to  my  work. 
The  king's  life  appertains  not  to  himself, 
But  to  his  realm.    The  chosen  of  the  gods 
Must  heed  their  high  call,  whatsoe'er  the  cost! 

(The  royal  guards  enter  and  form  for  orders.     He  scans  the  stalwart  line  with  pride.) 

Who  of  these  bravest  men  in  Thessaly 

Shall  be  my  ransom? — Now,  men,  which  of  you 

Will  die  to  save  his  king? 

(Every  sword  flashes  from  its  sheath,  and  the  line  steps  forward  with  cries  of  "The 
King!     The  King!") 

Nay,  sheath  your  swords. 
The  foe  that  threatens  him  cannot  be  toucht 
By  arms,  or  fenced  against  by  armor.     He 
Comes  silently  but  surely,  and  demands 
But  one — today. — But  no  more  riddling  now! 
At  noon  thy  king  must  die!    The  fatal  word 
Is  spoken.    But  if  any  worthy  man 
Will  die,  a  willing  ransom  for  the  king, 
The  king  shall  live.    Such  grace  hath  been  allowed. 

(He  pauses  briefly.      The  line  remains  unbroken.) 

Back  to  your  places,  men!    I  will  not  shame 
Myself  or  you  by  waiting.     (They  obey.)  Herald,  go— 
And  blow  a  signal  thro'  the  streets— 


ACT    THREE 55 

(An  attendant  enters  and  speaks  to  Palaemon,  privately.) 

Pal.  The  word 

My  lord,  already  hath  gone  forth,  and  one 
Is  come  to  say  thy  ransom  hath  been  found 
Within  thy  household. 

Adm.  Phoebus  be  praised  again 

Not  for  the  king's  life  only;  nay,  much  more, 
That  such  devoted  loyalty  yet  lives 
In  Pherse!    But  I  knew  my  life  was  whole. 
The  tide  of  health  was  coursing  thro'  my  veins 
Already.— Tell  the  man,  whoe'er  he  be, 
His  noble  sacrifice  is  registered 
With  gods  who  ne'er  forget;  and  say  to  him 
That  royalty  will  do  its  uttermost 
To  dignify  his  deed,  and  all  his  kindred 
Shall  be  ennobled  in  the  state.     His  name 
Shall  be  their  lasting  honor.     See  it  done! 

(The  attendant  goes,     Admetus  summons  another. 

The  weighty  matters  on  our  mind  today 
Have  caused  us  to  neglect  our  noble  guest, 
Great  Heracles.     Go,  bear  our  greeting  to  him, 
And  urge  him  at  his  will  to  meet  us  here. 
Alkestis  will  be  here,  anon. 

(As  the  attendant  goes,  the  king  first  takes  note  of  Palaemon' s  presence.) 

Palaemon,  thou? 
And  unattended?    How— 

Pal.  Phoebus  hath  eyes 

For  me,  and  they  are  at  thy  service,  king,— 
Thou  favored  of  the  gods,— as  faithfully 
As  mine  were  once! 


56  ADMETUS 


Adm.  Thou  knowest  all? 

Pal.  Aye,  king: 

A  great  deliverance  is  wrought.     Be  firm, 
Once  more,  and  let  no  mortal  yearning  step 
Betwixt  thee  and  Olympus! 

Adm.  Yet,  once  more? 

Pal.   The  god  is  sure;  but  consummation  still 
Is  thine  to  choose.      (Heracles  enters. ) 

Adm.  Ah,  friend,  great  Heracles! 

The  friend  of  man,  indeed.     This  house  hath  oft 
Been  gladdened  by  thy  coming, —never  more 
Than  when  thy  shoulders,  that  before  had  borne 
So  many  burdens,  bore  into  this  hall 
Yon  loved  priest,  blinded  by  the  answer  to 
His  lifelong  prayer!    But  we  have  been  remiss. 
A  king  must  be  the  subject  of  his  realm, 
Tho  his  own  pleasure  suffer.     But  our  queen 
Will  join  us  soon,  and  we  will  make  amends. 

Heracles    Heartily    What  are  amends  that  are  not  made 

already,— 

In  that  I  see  thee  well,  and  soon  shall  see 
Thy  gracious  queen?    For  an  unwelcome  tale 
Of  illness  of  thyself  or  of  the  queen 
Hath  come  to  me. 

Adm.  'Twas  nothing,  and  is  past 

But  let  me  tell  thee  what  hath  chanced.    I  know 
Thou  lovest  noble  deeds  in  others,  as 


ACT     THREE 57 

Thou  lovest  to  perform  them.     Here  is  one. 
0  Heracles,  the  messenger  of  Fate 
Came  to  me  in  this  room  today! 

Heracles  What,  Hermes? 

Adm. 

Hermes, — to  lead  my  soul — thou  knowest  whither! 

Heracles       Thy  soul? 

Adm.  Aye,  and  had  Phoebus  not  prevailed 

In  my  behalf,  the  king,  who  now  in  health 
Recounts  to  thee— with  shuddering — this  tale, 
Would  be  a  dying  man! 

Heracles  A  marvel,  truly! 

What?    Could  the  word  of  Phoebus  bend  the  will 
Of  Fate? 

Adm.  Somehow  the  iron  will  of  Fate 

Was  bent.     A  willing,  worthy  soul  was  askt, 
As  ransom  for  the  king.    What  thinkest  thou? 
Would  the  king's  faithful  subjects  let  the  king 
Be  taken  in  such  strait?    Thou  seest  that  I 
Am  well, — and  it  is  now  the  fatal  hour. 

Heracles       0  King  Admetus,  thou  art  doubly  blest: 
First,  for  thy  favor  with  the  gods;  and  then, 
No  less,  that  this,  love's  highest  challenge,  hath 
Not  rung  in  vain  in  Pherse!    Yet,  as  king 
O'er  such  a  subject,  thou'rt  no  happier 
Than  is  that  subject,  whose  brave  soul  uprose 
To  save  the  king  by  such  a  deed!    Therein, 


58  ADMETUS 


Alone,  may  man  outstrip  the  gods— that  he 
May  die  for  love! 

Adm.  0  noble  Heracles! 

I  partly  guess  thy  meaning.     What  is  that? 

(A  sound  of  the  wailing  of  Women  is  heard. ) 

Is  that  the  wailing  for  the  soul  that  goes 
As  ransom  for  the  king? 

Heracles          Reverently.  For  him  should  rise 

A  song  of  triumph,  rather! 

Attendant    Entering  The  queen,  my  lord, 

Is  dying! 

Adm.  and  Heracles       The  queen! 

Att.  The  queen,  my  lord,  is  dying! 

Adm.    Incredulous. 

That  cannot  be!    She  was  but  faint  for  joy! 

(There  is  a  pause,  in  which  Heracles  divines  all  that  has  happened.) 

Heracles   For  joy,  Admetus,  she  hath  ransomed  thee! 

(Admetus  slowly  realizes  that  even  a  woman  might  fulfil  the  terms  of  his  ransom.) 

Adm. 

I  see  it  now:  why  saw  I  not  before? 

(To  the  attendant.) 

Dying,  thou  said'st— not  dead!    Then  this  must 

stop! 
Where— who  can  check  this  thing?    0  Phoebus, 

thou— 


ACT     THREE 


59 


Pal.  Patience,  0  King  Admetus — this  is  now 
Beyond  the  gods.  Be  resolute,  my  lord, 
Once  more,  and  then— 

Adm.  Palaemon,  NO!  Thou  hast 

No  solace  here!        The  bliss  of  all  Olympus 
Could  never  pay  this  loss! 

(He  is  overcome  with  grief.     Heracles  lifts  him  to  his  feet  and  attendants  come  to  his 
support.) 


Heracles 


Lead  him  gently  in. 


(Admetus  is  led  away,  and  is  followed  by  Palaemon,  also  attended.     Heracles  resumes 
his  seat.      The  vailing  approaches,  and  the  mourners  enter,  singing.) 

Chorus 

Life  so  fair,  but  fleeting,  fleeting! 

Gleam  of  morn,  then  changeless  night. 

Close  upon  the  thrill  of  greeting 
Comes  the  sob  that  ends  delight. 

Silence  where  the  bird  was  singing- 
Blooms  the  flower,  in  dust  to  fall; 

For  the  careless  Hours  are  winging 
Death  to  each  and  all! 

Heracles       Is  there  naught  to  do  but  mourn? 


Chorus 


Every  leaflet's  idle  flutter 

Calls  the  reaper  to  the  vale. 

Red  lips,  with  each  word  they  utter, 
Sooner  must  be  husht  and  pale. 

How  the  far-drawn  billow  crashes, 
And  is  quencht  along  the  shore! 


60  ADMETUS 


As  the  morning  dewdrop  flashes 
Once  and  nevermore. 

0  so  queenly,  radient,  tender- 
Must  her  graces  light  the  grave? 

Love,  0  Love,  thou  ruthless  spender, 
Is  there  nothing  thou  wouldst  save? 

Love,  0  Love,  thou  all-retrieving, 
Death  is  won  to  thee  at  last! 

Thine  the  triumph,  ours  the  grieving, 
Till  all  grief  be  past! 

(The  mourners  pass  out.     Heracles,   who  has  been  submergea  in  thought  throughout 
the  singing  of  the  chorus,  now  rises,  as  if  summoning  himself  to  action.) 

Heracles       0  Father  Zeus,  thy  help  in  one  more  task— 
The  greatest  task  of  all!    Death  shall  not  hold 
Alkestis!     (He  pauses,  as  awaiting  response.) 

Father  Zeus,  thy  help— once  more! 

( There  is  a  sound  of  low  thunder  from  Olympus.     Heracles  hears,  lifts  his  face  and 
his  arms  in  acknowledgment,  and  goes  out. ) 


THE     FOURTH     DAY 


In  spite  of  the  special  vision  that  has  been  granted 
him  of  the  divine  splendor  of  Apollo,  Palaemon  finds 
himself  powerless  in  the  presence  of  the  bitter  human 
bereavement  of  Admetus;  who,  no  longer  attracted  by 
Olympian  immortality,  is  now  resolved  to  live  his  human 
life,  and  then  to  join  Alkestis  in  the  realm  of  shades. 
Heracles,  about  to  depart  on  his  Thracian  quest,  asks  an 
audience  of  the  king.  He  brings  with  him  a  woman, 
heavily  shrouded,  whom  he  has  won,  he  says,  at  a 
wrestling  match.  As  he  cannot  take  her  with  him,  he 
prevails  upon  Admetus  to  have  her  cared  for  in  his 
palace.  Looking  upon  her  as  she  is  led  away,  the  king 
and  his  court  are  filled  with  poignant  memories  of 
Alkestis.  Then  Heracles  tells  Admetus  how  he  has 
attempted  to  conquer  Death,  and  how  he  has  been  grant 
ed  a  special  revelation  of  the  significance  of  death  in 
human  life,  and  how,  finally,  in  recognition  of  the 
reconciliation  of  Admetus  to  his  humanity,  Death  has 
voluntarily  yielded  up  Alkestis;  that  she  may  do  her  ap 
pointed  work  with  him  for  whom  she  was  willing  to  die, 


62  ADMETUS 


and  that  they  two  may  live  on  together  and  be  ready  for 
the  summons  of  Hermes,  whensoever  it  may  come. 
And  when  this  marvelous  story  is  told,  and  the  king  can 
no  longer  doubt  that  Alkestis  lives  once  more,  the  day 
comes  to  its  close.  For  the  beautiful  divinities  that 
accompany  the  chariot  of  the  sun-god  now  lead  in  the 
evening,  and  all  mortal  life  yields  in  turn  to  the  kindly 
ministrations  of  the  night. 


ACT    IV 


SCENE:     As  in  Act  I. 


(Palaemon,  blind  and  more  decrepit  than  heretofore,  enters,  led  by  old  Zethus,  who 
shows  for  the  priest  the  utmost  solicitude,  mixt,  it  may  be,  With  some  of  the  superstitious 
awe  that  the  ignorant  are  likely  to  feel  toward  the  insane  or  the  specially  afflicted.) 


Zethus  This  is  the  way,  good  Palaemon.  We  are  now 
before  the  temple,  where  thou  didst  desire  to  be.  Canst 
thou  really  not  see  it?  Why,  'tis  as  clear  as  the  sun  itself! 
To  be  blind  is  monstrous.  Here  the  king  will  come,  anon,  to 
bid  farewell  to  the  great  Heracles— Heracles,  good  Palsemon, 
he  that  bore  thee  from  the  field  when  thou  wert  stricken. 
Canst  thou  remember,  being  blind?  He,  he,  he!  (A  mirth 
less,  merely  habitual,  cackle.)  Thou  wert  a  wisp  of  corn  in  his 
hands— thou  wert!  He  said  he  had  carried  a  lion's  carcass 
once.  He,  he,  he! 

Palaemon     Is  no  one  here? 

Zet .  No  one.— Yet  hold— yes,  it  is  Heracles  himself,  coming 
hither  along  the  Larissa  road,— and  he  leads  a  woman  by  the 
hand.  He  is  coming  to  meet  the  king  before  he  goes  on  his 
way.  There  is  the  road,  Palsemon— dost  see?  No,  thou  art 
blind,  indeed!  It  is  the  road  that  leads  to  the  tomb,  and  over 
it  the  funeral  procession  past  this  morning.  Alack,  it  was 
very  sad.  (He  sighs,  imagining  that  he  is  Very  sorrowful.)  They  say 
she  died  to  save  the  king,  and  now  he  grieves  mightily.— A 
cruel  stroke  it  is,  Palsemon,  that  thou  shouldst  be  blind,  when 


64  ADMETUS 


there  is  so  much  to  see.  How  is  it,  indeed,  with  a  man  who 
cannot  see?  Can  he,  in  very  truth,  see  nothing?  Is  it  always 
black  night,  with  neither  stars  nor  moon,  when  one  is  blind? 
Can  one  live  so? 

Pal.  Patiently,  and  rather  to  himself  than  to  Zethus.  Nay,  nay! 
All  is  light,  yet  is  nothing  seen  that  others  see.  —Yet  now  I 
see  a  dead  queen  and  a  mourning  king! 

Zet.  That  cannot  be!  The  queen  is  in  the  tomb  and  the 
king  is  not  here.  What  else  canst  thou  see,  good  Palsemon? 
He,  he,  he! 

Pal.  As  before.    Only  the  splendor  of  the  god! 

Zet.  Only  the  splendor  of  the  god!  Alack,  thou  art  beside 
thyself.  I  see  no  god,  tho  my  eyes  are  sound.  I  never  saw 
a  god,  unless  it  were  that  madcap  youth  that  used  to  sit  upon 
a  rock,  or  lean  against  a  laurel,  and  sing  '  'Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, " 
like  a  silly  bird, — with  his  fingers  twiddling  on  a  piece  of 
wood!  He,  he,  he,  he,  he! 

Pal.  No,  thy  world  hath  no  place  for  gods. 

Zet.  Complacently.  Truly  not.  With  sheep  for  wool  and  meat, 
and  a  field  where  I  may  dig  stones  and  plant  barley,  and  a 
place  to  sleep  when  night  comes,  I  care  not,  —but  I  may  not 
speak  thus,  for  they  say  that  the  gods  are  easily  angered. 
Can  they  hear  us  when  we  talk  together,  thus? 

Pal.      They  may  be  otherwise  engaged. 

Zet .  Truly.  (He  sfteaks  as  he  might  in  the  presence  of  an  infant  or 
an  imbecile.)  Poor  old  man!  He,  he,  he!  He  sees  Alkestis, 


ACT     FOUR 65 

and  cannot  see  the  road  to  her  tomb;  he  sees  the  king,  when 
the  king  is  not  here;  he  sees  "the  splendor  of  the  god,"  and 
he  cannot  see  me!  He,  he,  he!  How  foolish  a  man  is  when 
he  hath  lost  his  wit!  And  to  such  a  pass  we  may  all  come: 
he  was  a  good  shepherd  once.  (To  Palaemon.)  But  thou  hast 
missed  much  in  being  blind,  Palaemon,— 'tis  a  brave  sight:  all 
the  people  in  a  procession,  and  the  king  grieving  for  the 
queen  who  hath  died  for  him. 

Pal.    And  will  the  king  come  here? 
Zet.    Anon. 

Pal.  Speaking  regretfully  to  himself.  I  must  not  stay  to  meet 
him.  I  have  spoken  to  him  already,  as  best  I  might — or 
rather  Phoebus  hath  spoken  thro'  me, — and  'twas  of  no  avail. 
May  the  Fates  deal  kindly  with  him,  since  the  god  cannot 
change  his  will!  Where  is  the  temple? 

Zet.  Why,  right  before  thee!    But  thou  art  indeed  blind! 

(Palaemon  raises  his  arms  and  his  face  toward  the  temple  in  silent  supplicati  § . 
Meanwhile,  Heracles,  leading  a  woman  who  is  completely  shrouded  and  veiled,  approaches. 
He  conducts  her  to  a  seat  beside  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  portico.) 

Pal.    Now,  lead  me  away. 
Zet.  Whither,  good  Palaamon? 

(Heracles  strides  forward  and  greets  Palaemon  affectionately.) 

Heracles 

What,  good  old  priest!  A  priest  thou  art,  indeed! 
The  god  of  light  shines  thro'  thee,  tho  thine  eyes 
Are  darkened.  But— thou  comest  from  the  king: 
How  didst  thou  leave  him? 


66  ADMETUS 


Pal.  Changed,  0  Heracles! 

His  foot  was  on  the  ladder  to  Olympus; 
But  now  he  turns  him  from  the  skies,  and  vows 
To  bide  his  mortal  time,  and  then  to  seek 
Alkestis  in  the  gardens  of  the  dead! 
Thou  only,  Heracles,  who  art  the  son 
Of  Zeus,  and  yet  the  earth-tried  friend  of  man, 
Canst  help  him  now.    No  priest  avails,  no  dream 
Of  immortality,  away  from  her, 
Can  lift  his  eyes  again  to  the  great  boon 
That  Phoebus  and  the  dear  one  whom  he  mourns 
Have  won  for  him  so  hardly! 

Heracles  Patience,  priest: 

The  highest  powers  that  sway  are  in  this  cause 
Enlisted  with  the  king.     Have  faith  that  all 
May  yet  be  well  with  him. 

Pal.  Thy  strong  right  arm 

Is  in  thy  words.     Farewell!     (To  Zethus) 

Now,  lead  me  on- 
Down  the  Larissa  road — toward  the  tomb. 

Zet.  This  way,  Palsemon!    Canst  thou  not  see? 

(The  priest  stumbles.) 

No,  thou  art  blind,  indeed!    This  way. 

(Heracles  goes  with  them  a  few  steps,  bidding  farewell;  then  turns,  and  finds  himstlf 
face  to  face  with  Apollo.) 

Apo.  Brother,  ho w  no w  ?    What  marvel  hast  thou  wrought 
Today? 

(He  points  to  the  woman,  who  is  unconscious  of  his  presence.) 

Heracles       Gravely.      I  know  not. 


ACT     FOUR 67 

Apo .  What,  thou  knowest  not 

The  import  of  thy  deed? 

Heracles  Not  when  'tis  done 

For  man. 

Apo.  Oho!    Then  thou,  the  friend  of  man, 

Art  balked  by  this  same  riddle!    I,  a  god, 
Have  dwelt  with  man  and  learned  to  love  him  well- 
Finding  a  novel  joy  in  serving  him; 
And  yet,  some  monster  of  perversity 
Resides  within  his  flesh,  and  brings  to  naught 
My  labors. 

Heracles  Canst  thou— die? 

Apo .  What  meanest  thou  ? 

The  gods  cannot  know  death! 

Heracles  Nay,  they  are  '  'doomed 

To  immortality  "—I  learned  the  phrase 
Today.     But  man  knows  life  and  death:  he  dwells 
Within  the  mystery  about  which  thou 
Art  only  curious.     Wouldst  thou  know  his  will, 
Thou  must  know  death  as  well  as  life. 

AP°-  Indeed! 

Too  high  a  price  for  mere  simplicity! 

Heracles 

Too  high  a  price  for  any  god  to  pay. 

Apo.  A  son  of  Zeus  hath  caught  the  human  trick 


ADMETUS 


Of  answering  one  riddle  with  another!— 
Then,  Heracles,  it  seems  that  each  must  be 
Content  with  his  own  work:  thus,  I  with  mine; 
With  his,  Admetus. 

Heracles  Heracles  with  his. 

Apo.  Farewell!    The  king  is  coming.    Would  that  I 

Might  prove  my  friendship  as  thou  pro  vest  thine.— 
And  yet  I  would  not  rob  thee  of  the  joy! 

(He  goes  out  as  Admetus,  with  all  the  tokens  and  bearing  of  a  strong  man  in  deep  grief, 
enters,  attended  by  household  and  courtiers.  Music,  elegiac  in  character,  sounds  while 
all  take  their  places.  Heracles  drops  on  one  knee  to  greet  the  king;  then  stands  beside 
the  shrouded  woman  and  gravely  waits  for  silence.  His  bearing  in  the  ensuing  dialogue 
is  not  that  of  one  who  is  conciously  conferring  a  great  benefit.  Rather,  he  seems  as  one 
who  has  Just  received  a  marvelously  penetrating  and  inspiring  revelation,  and  who  is  at 
once  sobered  and  lifted  up  thereby.) 

Heracles     Earnestly 

Admetus,  king  of  Pherae,  I  have  askt 

This  meeting,  since  with  early  morn  I  go 

On  urgent  labor  to  distant  land; 

And  in  thine  hour  of  grief,  by  wondrous  chance, 

A  message  of  high  moment  hath  been  sent 

To  thee.     I  am  its  bearer,  and  I  crave 

Thy  audience  while  I  unfold  a  tale 

Of  wonder  that  shall  yield  the  sweetness  forth, 

Out  of  the  bitter  heart  of  thy  great  grief. 

Admetus 

0  Heracles,  if  thou  hast  aught  to  say 
To  mitigate  the  sorrow,  or  to  dull 
A  single  accent  or  a  glance  of  eye 
From  all  the  past  that  lives  so  poignantly 


_ ACT     FOUR 69 

Within  my  heart,  then  spare  thy  speech.     No  drop 

In  all  the  brimming  vessel  of  regret, 

But  has  for  me  a  sweetness  far  more  dear 

Than  aught  that  life  now  holds.     A  future  void 

Of  life  may  not  destroy  a  past  that  lives. 

Only  Alkestis  living  at  my  side 

Can  take  away  Alkestis  as  she  was.— 

(He  seats  himself.) 

But  0,  my  friend,— the  friend  of  all  who  need,— 
So  little  can  we  guess  of  all  that  thou 
Hast  in  thy  heart  and  in  thy  might  for  man, 
That  we  must  hear  thy  tale,  as  if  it  were 
The  growth  of  our  own  longings  into  speech! 

Heracles 

Thou  wilt  be  glad  of  it,  0  king.     But  first 
I  ask  a  simple  favor  at  thy  hand. 

(He  leads  the  shrouded  woman  before  the  fang- ) 

I  won  this  maiden  at  a  wrestling  match, 
Today.    Thou  know'st  she  cannot  go  with  me 
On  my  far  Thracian  quest.     I  therefore  ask 
That  she  may  be  protected  in  thy  palace 
Till  my  return. 

Adm.  Within  my  palace,  friend? 

The  palace  of  Admetus  is  not  fit— 

Heracles.  Sharply. 

What,  dost  thou  hesitate,  Admetus,  now, 
To  grant  a  simple  favor?— 

Adm.  Pardon,  Heracles! 

Pherae  has  nothing  thou  canst  not  command. 


70  ADMETUS 


Heracles       Must  Heracles  command  a  favor? 

Adm.  Nay, 

Bear  with  me  friend,  or  rather  with  my  grief— 
But  as  she  stands  with  thee,  I  seem  to  see 
Alkestis! 

Heracles.  It  hath  come  to  pass,  Admetus, 

That  every  woman  whom  thou  seest  will  call 
The  loved  one  to  thy  mind. 

Adm.  No,  Heracles, 

The  earth  holds  none  like  her.     And  were  she  here, 
In  very  truth,  we  two  would  live  our  days 
Rejoicing,  while  the  light  should  last,  and  pray 
That  Hermes,  call  might  come  to  both  at  once, 
And  find  us  ready.     Now  I  sit  alone, 
Biding  a  few  brief  years,  till  I  shall  go, 
Serenely  glad  to  seek  her  in  the  shades. 

Heracles 

Thy  grief  hath  made  thee  wild! 

Adm.  Not  wild,  my  friend; 

My  mind  hath  given  judgment:  better  one 
Brief  day  with  her  beside  me,  as  she  was, 
That  we  might  be  united  so  in  fate, 
Than  the  chill,  endless  glory  of  Olympus.— 

Heracles 

But  thou  wilt  keep  this  maid? 


ACT     FOUR 71 

Adm.  Eurynome, 

Lead  her  within;  care  for  her  as  befits 
Her  noble  master. 

(Eurynome  approaches  the  shrouded  figure,  then  shrinks-     Heracles,  watchful,  puts 
up  his  hand  in  Warning.) 

Heracles  To  Eurynome.  Go  before,  and  speak 
No  word  to  her!  To-morrow  she  will  be 
Herself  once  more. 

(  The  woman  follows  Eurynome  out.  All  gaze  at  her  with  curious  fascination.  Admetus 
almost  rises  from  his  seat;  then  sinks  back,  as  if  realizing  that  he  is  victim  of  an  illusion. 
He  resigns  himself.  His  mood  is  reflected  by  the  song. ) 

Song 

From  some  far  world  above, 
There  drifted  into  mine 

A  spirit  divinely  fair; 

And  she  blinded  my  eye  with  her  hair- 
She  prest  her  lips  to  mine— 

And  that  was  love! 

A  murmur,  a  whispered  prayer— 
A  breathing  of  wings  that  past: 

With  eyelids  wide  to  the  night, 

I  strove  to  trace  that  flight; 
But  the  silent  spaces,  vast, 

Were  chill  and  bare. 

The  morn  returns  to  the  streams: 

My  vision  comes  not  again; 
But  from  deeper  wells  of  the  sky 
Flow  the  days,  and  the  memory 

Of  a  bliss  that  was  lost  in  pain 
Is  dearer  than  dreams. 


72  ADMETUS 


(Heracles  stands  waiting  till  the  king  rouses  himself  from  his  mood.) 

Adm. 

We  keep  thee  waiting,  friend:  the  flesh  is  weak. 


Heracles         Gravely,  and  with  conviction. 

In  weaknes  is  its  strength.    This  have  I  learned 

Today,  Admetus.     'Twill  be  easier  for  thee 

To  get  the  meaning  of  the  tale  I  bring.— 

A  few  hours  since,  when  thou  wert  bowed  beneath 

The  first  stroke  of  thy  grief,  I  prayed  to  Zeus 

For  aid  in  a  presumptuous  enterprize— 

Adm. 

Presumptuous?    To  the  might  of  Heracles, 
Is  any  enterprize  presumptuous? 

Heracles 

For  such  a  task  the  strength  of  arm  avails 

Nothing.     My  folly  thou  wilt  see,  0  king, 

For  thou  art  man.     I  tell  thee,  sudden  wrath 

At  thy  despoiling  filled  my  soul  with  fire! 

I  would  go  seek  the  spoiler, — him  that  comes, 

Hiding  his  cruel  purpose  in  the  dark. 

This  arm,  that  oft  hath  hurled  the  foes  of  man 

To  Death  and  Tartarus,  would  now  meet  Death, 

The  spoiler,  in  his  hour  of  victory, 

And  wrest  from  him  the  prey — would  bring  Alkestis 

Back  to  her  lord! 

Adm.  0  Heracles,  no  blame 

Is  thine  for  failure  of  that  high  resolve! 


ACT     FOUR 73 

Heracles 

Nay,  but  thou  wilt  be  glad  when  thou  hast  heard 
What  chanced.— 

Where  should  I  find  this  enemy? 
I  pictured  the  grim  monster,  gloating  o'er 
His  latest  victim.     Thro'  the  night  I  stood 
Beside  yon  doorway,  watching:  he  came  not. 
In  early  morn  I  walkt  with  those  that  bore 
The  beauteous  body  to  the  sepulcher 
On  the  Larissa  road.    And  when  the  throng 
Departed,  and  the  sounds  of  mourning  died, 
I  sat  alone  beside  the  silent  tomb, 
And  waited  long,  in  vain.    And  when  it  seemed 
That  I  must  seek  the  lost  one  in  the  far 
Sad  garden  of  Persephone,— 

Adm.  My  friend! 

So  far  wouldstthou  have  gone? 


Heracles       Bowing.  —then  suddenly 

It  seemed  a  presence  stood  beside  the  door, 
And  slowly  grew  into  a  woman's  form- 
Mantled  in  gray,  with  wreath  of  asphodel 
About  the  marble  beauty  of  her  brow. 
And  ere  my  lips  could  frame  an  utterance, 
A  voice,  so  lowly  musical  it  seemed 
To  grow  within  me,  said,  '  '0,  son  of  Zeus, 
The  love  that  holds  thee  to  thy  strange  intent 
Constrains  me  to  reveal  myself  to  thee; 
And  as  man's  helper  thou  deservest,  too, 
That  thou  shouldst  know  what  every  man  must 
learn." 


74  ADMETUS 


"And  who  art  thou?"     I  askt.    She  answered, 

'  'Death. " 

At  that  dread  name  my  wrath  flamed  up  within: 
I  cried,  "Then  hope  not  with  so  fair  a  form, 
To  shield  so  foul  a  monster!"    and  I  sprang, 
And  would  have  grappled  with  her.    As  I  rose, 
My  eyes  met  hers.— 

Such  lustrous,  level  eyes— 
They  held  mine — gazing — till  I  seemed  to  see 
Sunrise  and  sunset  mingling  at  some  far 
Faint  margin  of  illimitable  sea.— 
And  then — I  knew  not  that  my  hands  had  dropt— 

Adm. 

Ah,  mighty  Heracles,  mighty  in  love 
Of  man,  and  mighty  in  thy  arm — alas! 
Not  even  thou  canst  quell— 

Heracles  Not  so,  0  king! 

Twas  nothing  grim  or  terrible  that  broke 
These  battle-tested  sinews.     'Twas  the  deep 
Calm  beauty  of  those  wondrous  eyes,  that  showed 
World  beyond  world,  all  luminous  with  love.  — 

Adm. 

Beauty — and  love! 

Heracles  Aye,  king,  beauty  and  love! 

Weigh  well  those  words;  their  meanings  learn  anew: 
Learn  what  it  is  that  thou  hast  shunned  in  fear! 
She  who  in  beauty  died  for  love  of  thee 
Hath  earned  the  right  to  teach  thee. 


ACT     FOUR 75 

Adm.  Aye,  Alkestis. 

Already  she  hath  taught  me  much.     Go  on. 

Heracles 

Then  mark  me  well:  the  tale  affects  thee  nearly.— 
Unmanned  thus  strangely,  not  a  blow  received 
Or  given,  unwittingly  I  lost  myself, 
And  lookt  into  the  level  eyes  of  Death; 
Until — it  may  be  that  I  swooned  away, 
But  this  I  know:  my  purpose  was  forgot; 
The  vigor  which  a  thousand  victories 
Had  stored  within  my  arms  was  all  forgot; 
The  glory  of  Olympus  and  its  gods- 
Even  great  Father  Zeus,— this  kindly  earth, 
With  all  its  sunny  toil  and  starlit  rest — 
All  were  as  if  they  ne'er  had  been.— 

That  tomb, 

It  seemed,  was  but  a  gateway,  now  flung  wide, 
And  I  was  gazing  thro',  into  a  world 
Miraculous  as  that  which  good  Palaemon 
Sees  thro'  his  blindness.     Yet  'twas  but  this  world ; 
For  some  strange  sense  was  suddenly  unsealed 
Within  me,  and  my  spirit  leapt  to  meet 
The  miracles  that  live  within  this  earth! 
I  heard  a  bird's  song;  and  within — beyond, 
Were  all  the  songs  that  birds  have  ever  sung. 
I  heard  a  child's  laugh — just  a  happy  rill, 
That  told  me  how  a  wondrous  stream  of  joy 
Comes  rippling  down  the  human  centuries. 
I  pluckt  a  flower,  and  in  its  silken  folds 
The  marvel  of  its  beauty  lay  revealed. 
A  million  cups,  like  this,  had  filled  themselves 
With  sunlight  to  the  brim;  and  every  one 


76  ADMETUS 


Had  claspt  its  treasure  unto  life  and  death, 
To  make  this  beauty— dying  in  my  hand. 
The  fragrance  drew  my  spirit  back  thro'  fields 
And  garden-plots  uncounted,  where  the  winds 
Of  long-dead  summers  played,  and  elements 
Climbed  grossly  from  the  soil,  to  lose  themselves 
In  the  soft  distillation  that  would  mix 
Their  souls  with  beauty — for  a  summer's  morn.— 

But  I  must  not  too  long  withhold  thy  joy: 
I  may  not  tell  thee  all  that  I  perceived 
Thro'  that  new  sense  that  laid  the  husk  aside. 
All  was  of  wondrous  import,  for  I  saw 
That  earth  would  not  be  earth,  if  Death  were  not; 
That  man  would  not  be  man,  if  Death  were  not; 
That  life  would  not  be  life,  if  Death  were  not; 
That  all  the  beauty  and  the  melody 
Are  molded  and  attuned  in  every  way 
By  those  two  friends — co-workers— Life  and  Death! 
And  then  I  knew  how  she  that  loveth  life 
Must  give  her  life  most  freely— such  a  gift, 
And  such  a  consecration  as  the  gods 
May  by  no  means  aspire  to,  being  doomed 

To  immortality. 

At  last  I  woke 
From  my  deep  dream.    My  eyes  were  freed  once 

more: 

I  saw  the  gray  stone  of  the  sepulcher, 
And  that  gray  figure  standing  by  the  door, 
And  heard  her  voice's  music  once  again. 
She  said,  "The  vision  I  have  granted  thee 
Is  sealed  unto  the  gods.     Thou,  Heracles, 
Altho  immortal,  art  allied  to  man, 
In  sympathy  and  thro'  Alcmene's  pain; 


ACT     FOUR 77 

And  thou  hast  earned  the  right  to  know  this  thing: 
Man's  love,  man's  will,— the  strangely  blended 

twain 

That  make  him  man,— would  vanish,  were  it  not 
That  life  and  death  are  mingled  in  his  blood. 
To  woman  comes  this  knowledge  easily, 
And  she  must  be  man's  teacher." 

Adm.        Thoughtfully  Death  was  right; 

Her  words  are  echoes  of  the  lesson  taught 
By  one  who  pluckt  the  fatal  asphodel- 
Would  she  were  here  to— 

Heracles  Patience,  yet  awhile, 

Admetus,  and  thou  shalt  rejoice. 

Adm.  Rejoice? 

A  strange  word  in  Admetus'  ears,  my  friend! 

Heracles       Prepare  to  hear  strange  words,  Admetus;  I 
Have  yet  the  greatest  marvel  to  unfold. 
Pardon  thy  friend  for  holding  thee  thus  long: 
'Twas  needful  thou  shouldst  hear  the  tale  at 

length- 
Nay,  patience! 

After  Death  had  spoken  thus, 
She  paused  and  smiled,  and  then  again  she  spoke: 
"Admetus  hath  been  much  beguiled  of  late 
By  those  who  serve  the  Fates,  not  knowing  me. 
Now  is  he  changed,  and  shuns  no  more  his  lot; 
And  since  he  needs  Alkestis,  and  since  she 
Hath  taught  him  now  the  law  of  love  and  death, 
She  shall  go  back  with  thee  to  him." 


78  ADMETUS 


Adm.  Incredulous  What  may 

This  mean? 

Heracles  Alkestis  is  restored  to  thee! 

Thy  heart  was  right,  0  king,  she  stood  but  now 
Within  thy  presence!      (Then,  in  stern  command,  as 
Admetus  starts  from  his  seat)  Nay,  go  not  to  her! 

Adm.  Falling  back  in  wonder 

'Tis  Zeus,  the  father,  speaking  thro'  his  son! 
What  is  thy  will?    What  may  a  mortal  do? 

Heracles 

Alkestis  lives  for  thee,  as  once  she  died 

For  thee,  0  king!    From  deepest  consecration, 

The  deepest  that  the  Fates  allow,  she  comes, 

With  difficulty,  back  unto  the  light 

Of  this  world's  day.     To-morrow  thou  shalt  go 

And  greet  her,  —not  today!    Prepare  thyself, 

Meanwhile,  for  the  dear  life  which  thou  shalt  lead 

With  her,  in  this  thy  happy  realm,  until 

The  voice  of  Hermes  summons  thee  again. 

Adm.  As  if  in  a  dream. 

She  lives— again?    Alkestis? 

Heracles  Alkestis  lives 

Again! 

(Admetus,  over-awed,  sits  meditating.      The  chorus  goes  out,  singing.) 

Chorus 

0  the  Day  is  a  loom  where  the  God  doth  weave, 
A  wondrous  loom  is  the  Day! 


ACT     FOUR 79 

And  the  gleaming  web  is  the  life  we  leave, 
It  gleams  with  our  work  and  play. 

The  flash  of  the  shuttle,  the  quick  return- 
Doth  the  weaver  smile  as  he  sees? 

We  may  love  and  hold,  we  may  love  and  mourn; 
But  what  doth  the  weaver  please? 

0  the  Day  is  a  harp  to  the  God's  swift  hand, 

A  wondrous  harp  is  the  Day! 
Its  tones  are  the  noises  of  sea  and  land, 

And  strange  is  the  harper's  lay. 
From  the  God's  swift  hand  fly  the  sweet,  wild  chords— 

From  the  God's  swift  hand  they  fly! 
0  the  music  we  love,  but  we  know  not  the  words 

That  he  sings  as  he  passes  by! 

(Admetus  decends  from  his  seat  as  the  chorus  disappears,  and  would  throw  himself 
at  the  feet  of  Heracles,  who  checks  him,  and  leading  him  away,  exchanges  gravely 
affectionate  farewells  with  him.  As  soon  as  Heracles  is  alone,  the  note  of  Hermes  is 
heard.) 

Heracles    Hermes!    What  message  can  he  bring? 

(Hermes  enters,  fresh  and  debonair.) 

Hermes        Well,  brother,  thou  hast  stept  aside  from  the 
prescribed  path,  to  perform  an  unexpected  labor. 

Heracles    Whither  leads  the  prescribed  path,  if  not  to  the 
unexpected  labor? 

Hermes        Ho,  ho!  riddling  again!    But  spare  my  wit:    I 
come  from  Hera. 

Heracles  What  new  command  from  the  queen  of  heaven? 


80  ADMETUS 


Hermes        She  reminds  thee  that  thy  Thracian  task  is  yet 
untoucht. 

Heracles  Tell  her  that  I  go  directly.    These  hands  desire  on 
better  sport  than  curbing  the  wild  horses  of  the  north! 

(He  taf^es  up  his  club,  adjusts  his  lions  fain,  and  starts.) 

Hermes        Farewell,  0  son  of  Zeus  and  Alcmene! 
Heracles       Farewell! 

(Hermes    remains  on    the    stage,  which  is    gradually  filling   with    the    associates  of 
Apollo — now  forming  an  Eoening  Chorus.      The  fading  glow  of  sunset  is  the  light.) 

Chorus 
The  Day  is  gone!    The  breeze  that  stirred  the  meadow 

Waves  its  last  signal  from  the  tree- top's  height; 
And,  passing  into  earth's  benignant  shadow, 

All  mortal  life  must  leave  this  world  of  light. 
The  Day  is  gone!    The  cloud-hosts  westward  marching, 

In  flusht  ranks  pause  above  the  sunken  flame; 
Their  shadows  strike  across  the  sky's  faint  arching, 

And  softly  close  the  gates  whence  morning  came. 

The  Day  is  gone!    The  doves  are  homeward  plaining— 

Noon's  wandering  life  returns  to  evening's  fold. 
The  Day  is  gone!    The  sunset  glow  is  waning; 

On  mountain  peaks  the  dusk  hath  dimmed  the  gold. 
0,  fill  thine  eyes  that  die  with  light  immortal, 

Once  more,  0  man,  then  dream  thyself  to  sleep! 
The  Day  hath  past  beyond  the  western  portal— 

The  chariot-throne  speeds  onward  thro'  the  deep! 

( The  divine  Chorus  of  Eoening  gradually  disapears,  the  Winds  lingering  about  the 
pillars  to  the  last.      Then  Hermes,  at  the  center,  vanishes.) 


YC  67742 


395517 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


